


Tripping

by Hatteress (goddammitstacey)



Series: Tripping Verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Cas (canon compliant), BAMF Castiel, Because he's Dean Winchester, Bottom Cas, Bottom Dean, Dean Winchester has to be dragged kicking and screaming into feelings, Hand Jobs, Human Cas (canon compliant), Hurt/Comfort, Inline with canon, M/M, Slow Build, Supernatural Matchmaking, The universe just really wants Cas and Dean to make out okay?, Top Cas, Top Dean, alternate season 5, biting kink, season 5 related
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-02
Packaged: 2017-11-20 02:25:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 49,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/580255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goddammitstacey/pseuds/Hatteress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>That time the universe decided Dean belonged with Cas and wasn't afraid to pull out the big guns to make it so. Big guns in this case being obsessive fangirls, archangels turned tricksters and overly enthusiastic cupids. Welcome to Dean's life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stupid Future

**Author's Note:**

> I finally - FINALLY get to cross-posting this little monster. To all those who have been requesting a PDF copy of Tripping for ages - I'm sorry it took me so long! But look! AO3 has done all the dirty work for me!
> 
> And to any new readers - welcome! Here's hoping you enjoy the ride :)
> 
> Thanks go to thecouchcarrot over at ff.net for getting me into the Dean/Cas pairing in the first place and then stepping up as BETA for this story.

It all started with pie - something Dean considered nothing short of absolute cruelty. To have such a mess associated with crusty, crumbly goodness...well, it was a damn travesty.

* * *

"We'll start you off on apple," Dean said, his voice edged with the no-nonsense tone he only adopted when discussing really important matters. Like food.

"Apple?" Cas repeated, the question mark almost buried in the gravel of his voice. It was something that constantly amused Dean. The angel had a tone that suited uncertainty like a fish suited flight - no matter the subject, to see him faced with it was nothing short of hilarious.

Dean nodded, grinning. "It's a classic - you'll love it."

Castiel blinked at him from across the table and Dean was struck once more with how far from normal the circumstances were. For so long it had been Sam sitting across from him. Sam complaining about his taste in music. Sam snoring too loudly in the car seat beside him. Where Cas now regarded him with an expression of stoic seriousness Dean was far more used to well-worn exasperation at his various antics.

For all his laughter and surprised relief of the past day, Dean knew he hadn't found peace with the separation. He'd eat a bullet before telling the old bastard of course, but Bobby had been right about one thing: family wasn't supposed to be easy. That he and Sam had taken 'not easy' to all new heights of abuse didn't seem to matter. Dean couldn't deny a part of him just felt plain wrong in the absence of his little brother. That hanging with Cas had proven all too enjoyable didn't really factor into the equation.

"What can I get y'all?" said a voice, pulling Dean out of his inner musings and into a reality that had just gotten a whole lot more interesting, at least to one part of his anatomy.

"Well hi," he said, drawing the smirk like a gun from it's holster. It was an automatic action - one borne more of repetition than any real concrete interest but Dean enjoyed the game none the less. The back and forth flirting as he ordered was familiar and steady - two things his life very much wasn’t of late. By the time the waitress left Dean was feeling much more grounded, at least until he turned his grin to his table partner and experienced a slight twinge of disappointment to find no exasperated eye-roll to greet him. He'd never realised how much of the fun to be found in flirting was in annoying his brother with it.

Across from him Cas's head fell into it's customary tilt-and-frown and Dean looked down, ignoring the implied question.

"You are not happy," Castiel said lowly and Dean was all too aware of the missing question mark. Forcing a scoff he looked up at the angel.

"End of the world remember?" he said blithely. Cas's head started it's decent once more and Dean sighed. "I'm fine okay. Just a little tired after all the angel-trapping."

Castiel didn't accept the excuse, Dean could tell, but the angel dropped the subject anyway. Dean was pleasantly surprised - it was probably the most human thing Cas had achieved the whole day. Next to telling Raphael he was his little bitch of course. Dean smiled at the recollection but was kept from bringing it up as their table was suddenly host to a very large, very enthusiastic man dressed in chef pants and a well stained white shirt.

"You boys ordered the apple pies yes?" he said, eyes shining down at them with a happiness that Dean couldn't help but feel didn't belong to someone in the hospitality industry.

"Yeah we did," Dean said, leaning away from the man despite himself. There was something eerie about happy people.

"So sorry!" the man exclaimed. "We're all out of apple, how do you feel about blueberry?"

Dean turned to Cas to find the angel frowning out the window. Not that he had expected an opinion from him anyway but really?

"Yeah, blueberry's fine," Dean supplied and proceeded to jump a mile when the cook slapped him heartily on the back.

“Excellent!” the man exclaimed, like Dean had just aced a test or something. “I’ll have them brought out pronto!”

The pie that was brought out ten minutes later was the best Dean had ever tasted. In retrospect, he really should have known.

* * *

It started off slow at first. A rain of pebbles before the proverbial rock slide.

His radio jammed on one station, leaving Dean listening to MTV's gay and lesbian artist countdown. His hotel room pornovision account mis-labeled its library, leaving him highly traumatised when he realised the girl was never going to enter stage left. And flamboyant homosexuals seemed to be taking over the world. They were everywhere and everywhere they were checking him out.

Now Dean had never had an issue with the dude on dude side of life. To his mind, as long as the concept stayed far away from him, to each his - or y’know _her_ \- own. But after the third pinch on the ass even he had to admit things were getting a bit much. The fact that anytime they were together, Cas seemed to be getting the same attention just made the situation all the more surreal.

Then Zachariah sent him into the future.

If being faced with his own dark and broken future self and Castiel, the hippy womaniser weren’t strange enough, then Dean had gone and witnessed something he very desperately wished he hadn't.

* * *

Dean was headed for Future Cas’s cabin. It was the night before the hunt to end all hunts and the camp practically reeked of tension. His future self had laid out a rough plan of action before the group not an hour ago and had since disappeared. Dean found he was almost relieved. Narcissism aside, Future Dean was friggin’ depressing. If Dean was completely honest with himself, to see the sort of man he had a chance of becoming was more than a little upsetting. And well… To see the sort of man _Cas_ had a chance of becoming was just…wrong.

But, Dean needed answers and since his evil twin had made himself scarce he was stuck with the angel.

Dean sighed as he climbed the steps to the cabin. Stupid future him. Stupid future in general actually. Pausing at the doorway Dean found himself at a loss for a moment at the lack of door to knock on. Then he heard the voice.

"I know what you're doing," Cas said from within the cabin, the voice unmistakable with its familiar serious gruffness - _some_ things apparently didn’t change. Shifting subtly Dean peered in through the beaded curtain, catching sight of a figure hunched over the kitchen bench. It was surreal recognising himself from the back. Future Dean was silent in the face of Castiel's calm tone but Dean didn't miss the tightening of his grip on the bench-top.

"And I know why you're doing it," Cas continued, the voice drifting from the other side of the bench - somewhere Dean couldn't quite see from his vantage point. Dean watched as his future self seemed to sag a bit at the statement.

"They'll follow you," Future him said, his voice level even as his hands gripped the bench top hard enough to leave marks.

"They will," Cas agreed and Dean found himself frowning in confusion. What the hell... And then Castiel rounded the bench and Dean felt a slight hitch in his mental gear change as he took in the angel's appearance. His very _shirtless_ appearance.

It was something Dean’d never thought much on he supposed. Cas and clothes. For the longest time Dean had only ever been able to picture the angel in his customary trench-coated, holy tax-accountant getup. The introduction to hippy, hemp-wearing Castiel of the future had been shock enough but now to have bare skin in front of him...

Dean frowned, tracking the angel's movements despite himself as Cas approached his future self. Future Dean for his part had yet to look up from the bench.

"It's okay," Cas said softly and Dean watched as the words seemed to hit his future self like a sack of bricks to the shoulders. "I'll...see you on the other side."

A pit opened in Dean's stomach at those words and he would have shouldered his way into the scene demanding answers right then but for one thing; one small thing that had him freezing in his tracks. Cas moved closer to his future self, one hand coming up to trail a path up Future Dean’s spine to his neck. The gesture was easy, intimate and enough to have Dean doing a double take to make sure he wasn’t goddamn hallucinating because this... This was not... Just not. Dean watched mutely as Future Dean sucked in a breath, going rigid beneath the touch before the guy let out a small, broken sound.

"I can't..." he said, so softly Dean almost didn't catch it. 

Cas' hand moved up, tangling in Future Dean's hair. "I know," Cas replied and Dean had only a moment to bask in the confusion and horror of the situation before Cas pulled, tugging his future incarnation into a kiss that was as real as it should have been goddamn impossible. Dean Winchester did NOT make out with dudes for fuck’s sake. The moment stretched into an eternity, dragging Dean's nerves through razor-wire after it.

Then, thank fuck, future Dean lashed out, violently shoving Castiel away from him into the wall. Dean could have cheered - the world made sense again! Of course then Future Dean ruined it all by following Cas's momentum, bailing him up against the wall and…mother of _fuck_ , dragging his teeth down the angel's neck.

The noise Castiel made at the action should have been illegal.

What. The. Hell.

Dean tried and failed to look away as future him abandoned Castiel's neck to capture the angel's lips again, a keening moan vibrating low in the other Dean’s throat as Castiel's hand disappeared somewhere between them. There was a rustle of clothing - and Jesus, but Dean didn’t think he’d ever be able to hear a zipper opening again without being traumatised - before future him bit out a gasp and a muttered swear word as Castiel obviously hit the mark. Then Future Dean’s hands dropped to Cas’s hips and Dean almost choked at the path they took, sliding down over Castiel’s chest with a familiarity that was even more goddamn upsetting than everything else. Because it was suddenly very, _very_ obvious that this wasn’t the first time this had happened.

It was a train wreck. Dean couldn't pry his eyes away, even as future him yanked the belt right out of Cas' pants and broke the kiss to...oh god no...slide to his knees. Dean felt his stomach drop. Fuck but it was bad enough he was making out with a guy - even worse that that guy was Cas of all people - but there was no way - absolutely NO WAY he could ever...ever...

"Oh fuck..." Castiel moaned and Dean felt his eyes dragged up away from his future self and the thing couldn’t happen. The picture that he encountered was surreal to say the least.

If Cas shirtless was enough to shock him, it was nothing to the sight of Cas in the throes of a very real, very powerful sexual high. The angel was completely undone. Face flushed and hair haphazard, Dean watched as Cas arched against the wall, his bare chest heaving and catching with each new sensation. And fuck it if his future self didn't seem half goddamn talented. With all the insanities, blasphemies and swearing going on in his head Dean was a little terrifyingly amused to note a hint of pride had worked its way through the crowd. And then Cas did something that made Dean's head clear with a terrifying jolt.

"D-Dean..."

It was the voice that did it. No one who heard a voice that was _that_ completely debauched could help being affected by it. It didn't matter that Dean was straighter than a wooden plank. It didn't matter that the events unfolding before him only served to shock and horrify him. It only mattered that he was watching someone get royally and pleasurably turned inside out. Cas's voice went straight south.

Dean was running from the cabin not seconds later, a slight hobble to his step.


	2. The G Word

It was called The G Word, and it was the bane of Dean’s goddamn existence.

“A blockbuster!” The critics called it. “I real breath of fresh air for todays new age - bringing gay culture out of the shadows and into the mainstream!”

Dean very sorely wanted to kill whoever had come up with the concept for the damn show.

It was everywhere. Showing every time he turned on the TV in their various motel rooms; posters in every shop window. Dean found himself knowing the characters names and motivations despite himself. It was the sparkly friggin' vampires all over again.

Except of course Twilight had never had a character named Dean who friggin' looked like him. It was the worst part of the whole damn mess. A headlining TV drama about gay male relationships Dean could have handled but one of the main characters of it looking like him and prancing around with his name to boot? It was a freakin' nightmare.

Sammy of course was having an absolute ball with it. Dean had lost count of the number of times he’d come into their motel room to find the asshole had purposefully switched over to it on the TV. And the laughing whenever someone stopped them on the street to ask for Dean’s autograph was just plain obnoxious.

“Dude, the universe is totally telling you you’re gay!” Sam had howled the first time it’d happened. It was a comment that had earned the Sasquatch a walk back to the motel as Dean had taken off in the Impala, fuming silently and trying to calm down to the strains of Metallica.

The worst part was, he almost couldn’t help thinking that Sam had a friggin' point. Ever since he’d returned from the future after witnessing…what he’d witnessed, the world seemed to be dropping hints on him with all the subtlety of a freight train. Dean didn’t know if all the homosexual hype was a new thing or if he was just noticing it now after coming face to face with…what he came face to face with in the future, but there was no denying it was freaking him the hell out.

That the universe seemed to have already made up it’s mind about which dude in particular he ought to be making man-love with was just the cherry on the terrible, terrible cake.

Him and Cas in public was becoming a painful affair. The knowing, curious looks from people were enough to turn his stomach but it was far worse when they spoke up. If he had to correct one more waitress when she tried to recommend the couple’s special he was going to go mad.

All in all, when Gabriel trapped them in TV land, Dean should have known from the beginning what was coming.

* * *

“Play our roles,” Dean groused, wondering through the crowded club. “What the hell type of role is this supposed to be then!” he yelled, knowing the damn trickster was probably listening and laughing his ass off. Around him, various fake people turned to stare at him strangely.

After their last show switch he and Sam had been separated. It wasn’t the first time their entrances had been staggered but this was the longest Dean had gone so far playing it solo in TV land. He also had no idea what he was supposed to do. The faint tug of influence that had guided him and Sam through the motions over the last few hours seemed to be guiding him onwards through the club but nothing around him looked familiar. Up until now he’d at least had an idea of what sort of show he was on but this one was a mystery.

The people around him were dressed trendy, drinking from neon-coloured martini glasses and dancing to a mainstream pop song. Something stupidly high up in the charts right now if he was hearing correctly, something made popular by…

Oh Jesus. Jesus NO.

Dean swung around wildly, taking in the room once more and trying to imagine things from the right angle. That’s of course when he noticed the name of the club in high, metal-wrought lettering above the bar. “The Beat” it proclaimed and Dean swore. Loudly.

“Dean! You made it!” a voice boomed behind him and Dean spun, only to come face to chest with one of the biggest black men he’d ever seen. The name was on his lips before he even registered opening his mouth.

“Ryan,” he said woodenly. Ryan Rosen, his brain supplied helpfully - Dean Parker’s best friend in the hit TV show The G Word. Dean wanted to die. Again. This could not be happening. Moving on auto-pilot he plucked a martini glass off a passing tray and downed it in one.

“The party’s over this way stud,” Ryan said happily, dragging Dean through the crowd with the sort of ease only truly big people can accomplish. Dean supposed others tended to get out of your way if there’s a chance you might not catch sight of them for being up so high.

“You’ll be glad you came out,” Ryan continued, leading them up a flight of stairs to the VIP booths.

“Why’s that?” Dean said, an edge of pain to his voice. The look Ryan shot him over his giant, armani-clad shoulder almost had him turning and running right there.

“Daniel’s here,” the big man said with the air of one revealing a chocolate bar to a starving man.

Dean frowned for a moment before his brain very helpfully supplied the information he so desperately wished he didn’t know. Daniel was Daniel Austin - Dean Parker’s reserved but rebellious boyfriend. And very suddenly Dean knew exactly which episode of The G Word he was in. Sam had played it on repeat for a week when he’d found TI-VO in one of their motel rooms.

Daniel and Dean’s first kiss. Mother of fucking god.

Dean turned to storm away, the trickster and his orders be damned when a voice pulled him up short.

“Dean?”

Dean swung back just as the crowd before one of the booths parted strategically to reveal none other than Cas. The angel had a look of deep seated confusion on his face as he sat stiffly, candy-coloured martini glass in hand. Dean could have wept for joy.

“Cas! Dude, am I glad to see you!” he exclaimed, his voice edging into embarrassingly relieved. He was at the booth within a few steps. “Strap on your angel wings and get us the hell out of here.”

Castiel frowned up at him for a moment before looking down at his hand, still holding the neon drink.

“I - I can’t,” he said gruffly.

“What? What do you mean you can’t?” Dean asked, hardly caring that his tone was nearing hysterical. Then he blinked, remembering the ease with which the trickster had poofed Cas away during the Japanese game show. Dean looked the angel over, taking in his rigid posture. “What did he do to you?”

Castiel seemed unable to tear his gaze away from the glass, glaring at his hand with a deep frown of concentration on his face. “I’m not sure,” the angel said seriously. “But I can not seem to control my body.”

“Dammit,” Dean said emphatically, dropping into the seat next to Cas.

“Ah,” Ryan suddenly interrupted and Dean jumped, having forgotten about the guy. He looked up into the giant’s grinning face. “I see you two found each other.”

“Dean, this is Daniel,” he said, gesturing to Castiel. “Daniel - Dean.”

Dean froze. Oh Jesus Christ no…

He watched in dawning horror as Ryan winked at him. “You kids play nice,” the big man said before moving off.

Dean watched him go before turning his attention back to Castiel…who was apparently playing the role of Daniel Austin in today’s rendition of ‘How to Torture Dean Winchester’. Castiel frowned at him.

“I don’t understand,” the angel said blithely. Dean smacked his head on the table.

“Now now, don’t be like that,” a voice straight out of Dean’s nightmares said suddenly and he whipped his head up to face the grinning countenance of the trickster.

“You son of a bitch!” Dean growled, tipping his chair over in his haste to stand and choke the living daylights out of the bastard responsible for his current position. He barely made it a step before his feet suddenly stuck fast.

“Ah, you ought to know better - Dean Parker’s a pacifist after all,” the trickster taunted.

“What is this?” Dean demanded, gesturing to Cas behind him. “I thought you were trying to make your point with me and Sam!”

The trickster cocked his head merrily, fishing a chocolate bar out of his jacket pocket. “Oh I am,” the annoying prick assured. “You two just don’t happen to be the only ones who need reminding to get into character.” Taking a bite from the bar, the Trickster leaned around Dean to look down at Cas. “Rebelling Castiel? Really?”

Dean followed his gaze to find Cas glaring up at the Trickster, his throat seeming to be trying to work but his lips not cooperating.

“So!” the Trickster announced, drawing Dean’s attention back. “You two are going to partner up and tap-dance through these steps together.”

“Or what?” Dean growled. “Because I’m getting damn sick of playing your little game.”

“Or I send Cas here back to Heaven,” the trickster said, his voice suddenly edged with a very real chill. “Something tells me he won’t be altogether well received, traitor that he is.”

Dean frowned, shooting a look down to Cas who had yet to let up the glare aimed at the Trickster.

“So boys,” the Trickster continued happily, finishing up his chocolate bar and dropping the wrapper carelessly. “Happy dancing.”

And then he was gone. Music swelled back into the scene and everyone around them began to move once more. Dean, finding himself unstuck, took his time turning back to Castiel. The damn song crooned along in the background and Dean swore, because he suddenly remembered why it was so loved by the fans of the damn show.

“Come on, we have to…dance,” Dean said, a sick twisting in his gut accompanying the statement. Cas simply frowned up at him and Dean took in the frustration in his eyes and guessed. “You still can’t talk?”

Cas shook his head.

“Okay,” Dean said, yanking the angel to his feet and dragging him towards the dance floor. Fine, so Cas couldn’t talk. It was probably better all things considered, at least there’d be no awkward explanations of what had to happen - well, not two way ones at any rate.

Coming to a halt in the middle of the dance-floor Dean turned to face Cas and felt his face heat up in preparation. Jesus this was friggin' ridiculous.

“We have to dance and then…then we have to -” Dean stammered, tripping over the words in the face of Castiel’s confused frustration. Sighing, he squeezed his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Then we have to friggin’ kiss.”

The look on Castiel’s face when he re-opened his eyes would have made Dean laugh if it were any other situation than this one. It was like the poor guy was in the damn brothel all over again.

“I don’t want to do this any more than you do,” Dean said gruffly. “But it’s this or you face the music in Heaven - and I don’t think either of us want that.”

Dean watched as Cas seemed to think it over a moment and let out a short bark of laughter despite himself. That the damn angel was actually considering heavenly reprimand over having to kiss him was a special brand of hilarious. The music swelled around them and taking a deep breath Dean pulled Cas into his arms with a sharp tug. And thus began the torture.

Castiel had always been slightly shorter than him, something Dean hadn’t really taken note of before now. As Cas’s body shifted against his, Dean couldn’t help noticing that with their complimentary heights they fit together rather comfortably. Certainly a lot better than Dean had ever thought two men could. Dean wound one arm around the angel’s shoulders while the other gripped tight to the front lapels of the damn ever-present trench coat. He might have wanted to go through with this like a fish wanted to fly but he’d be damned if he was going to let Cas get away and end up tortured in Heaven.

Despite the tight grip and stupidly awkward stance, Castiel didn’t try to move away. For the first few bars of music, as Dean swayed them slightly, the angel simply held completely rigid in Dean’s arms. Dean couldn’t help but think he would have gotten more cooperation dancing with a statue and he sighed. 

Seemingly reading his mind Cas suddenly shifted in his arms and Dean sucked in a breath as the angel adjusted their position, bringing his hands up to hesitantly rest on Dean’s hips. It was better - more comfortable for both of them, at least physically - and yet all Dean could suddenly think about was the image of his future self sliding the belt out of Future Cas’s pants.

God _dammit_. Dean would have said then that the situation couldn't get any worse except - of course - they still had to make out like a couple of horny teenagers.

He and Sam had learned the hard way in TV land that you didn’t half-ass things. If the script called for you to heartily endorse herpes medication then you friggin’ endorsed the hell out of it. And if it called for you to kiss like you meant it… Dean groaned silently.

Cas, meanwhile seemed to have relaxed a little more, his body not held so entirely solid against Dean's. The fading threat of Cas bolting had seen Dean's death grip on the lapels of his coat relax a little as well, his fist now loosely resting against Cas's chest. Dean was surprised to note he could feel the angel’s heart beat through his layers of clothing.

It had been…a very long time since Dean'd had this sort of contact. His human encounters these days generally consisted of hurried screws in dingy motel rooms or desperate hugs from Sammy, Ellen or Bobby when they found out he was alive. It had been so long since he’d just been close to someone without the need to move away. That this particular contact had been forced by circumstances out of his control didn’t seem to matter to his senses. Dean was…comfortable. A knowledge that snuck up and scared the bejesus out of him when he realised it.

Clearing his throat Dean leaned slightly away from Cas’s warmth, ignoring the traitorous inclination to do the opposite as he turned his face to Castiel’s.

“Okay - that ought to be enough,” he said, his voice blessedly without the shake he knew should have been present. Looking down at Cas, he felt the blush that had subsided slightly return full force. Cas, for his part, watched him with his customary seriousness, his eyes very blue and very disconcerting when aimed from such a close distance.

“Now to the ah - the other thing,” Dean said awkwardly, looking anywhere but in Cas’s eyes. Clearing his throat he took a breath. “Ready?”

Cas’s eyes dipped down to Dean’s mouth for a split second before he nodded and Dean was surprised to note that the simple gesture had his heart suddenly pounding in his chest.

“Okay,” he whispered and then, before he could think too much about it, he shut his eyes and closed the distance between them.

It wasn’t gentle and it wasn’t slow. Dean didn’t let it be. Instead he poured all the anger and frustration at their situation into the kiss and sent his mind somewhere else while it happened. Or at least he tried to. His senses kept piping up to remind him of what was going on with little tidbits of information. Like that Castiel’s lips were surprisingly soft. That the feel of the angel’s stubble on his skin was amazingly not as bad as he’d thought it would be. And that the hands previously resting on his hips had turned into a vice-like grip, tugging him closer...

Dean’s mind spiralled in panic at that and so when Cas’s mouth opened under his he reacted on pure instinct, canting his head and taking deep, possessive control of the situation. The needy sound that was ripped from Cas’s throat at the action was like a bucket of cold water over Dean’s head.

Dean wrenched away, breaking the kiss with a full body pull that had him stumbling back a few feet. Jesus fucking Christ, what the hell had just happened?

Dean lifted disbelieving eyes to Cas's to find his own horrified look mirrored back at him. That probably meant he looked as thoroughly fucking debauched as well. God. That was it, Dean was killing himself. The world be damned.

Clapping sounded in what Dean suddenly realised was a silent room. The crowd around them had paused once more and Dean whipped his head around to pin the trickster with a glare.

“Boys!” the obnoxious bastard enthused. “Wow! Just wow,” he continued with a laugh. “I’m all a-tingle!”

Dean growled as he swiped one hand violently across his mouth - he could still goddamn _taste_ Cas for fuck's sake. “We danced to your tune, now let us out,” he snarled.

“Oh no no - that wasn’t the end game sport, just a little partner switch to spice things up,” the trickster grinned. Dean had never itched for a weapon so hard in his life. “Now, on with our regularly scheduled program!”

Dean swore long and loud as the scene shifted once more. And when Sam asked him a minute later why he looked like he’d just run a marathon he lied. He lied his goddamn ass off.


	3. Truth or Dare

It had not been Castiel’s intention to get drunk. Frankly, he hadn’t known it was possible. Jo and Ellen had been rather adamant on the advantages of trying though and so he had proceeded to drink Bobby out of house and home. Jo and Ellen obviously thought it was hilarious, though they had both imbibed a fair amount themselves and Castiel had been led to understand that alcohol tended to make the world a funnier place.

Though Castiel himself wasn’t entirely convinced of the truth in this fact - mostly the drink just seemed to make his mind a bit fuzzy around the edges.

When the conversation had turned to drinking games he had nodded along, quite happy to indulge these two new friends he seemed to have gained via association. It was only as the questions had started swerving into the topic of hedonistic pleasures that he'd started to have second thoughts.

“Cas!” Jo declared loudly, yanking him from his thoughts. “Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Castiel said, as he always did. He found it the easier of the two options as lying came so abysmally to him anyway. 

Jo leaned toward him over the table, eyes sparkling with a combination of laughter and liquor. “Have you ever been kissed?” she asked, her tone suggesting a wickedness that Castiel was at a loss to place.

It must have been the alcohol that saw Castiel very suddenly blushing. It was a disconcerting feeling - one he only recognised through consulting the memories of Jimmy Novak buried deep inside of him.

Yes, he’d been kissed. It was a memory that always served to unnerve and confuse him. The feel of Dean pressed against him, his mouth hot and hard on his own... it was one Castiel would never forget. Not least because every detail of experience was an angel’s to keep forever.

He’d heard of some humans’ memories dulling over time - others able to bury their past experiences so deep they were no longer visible. Angels had never been capable of such a thing. To Castiel, the kiss of months ago was as fresh in his memory as the moment it had happened. He’d never envied humanity’s frailty before, but if it was that which made them capable of forgetting then Castiel envied it now.

Dean’s kiss had been intense, terrifying and precious all at once and the memory of it never failed to cause Castiel’s mind to tangle itself in knots. Angels didn’t feel, at least not in the sense humans conceived the notion and yet Castiel knew something very like it had happened that day with the sensation of Dean’s lips on his. Something large and out of his control had grabbed a part of him and changed it forever. Never before had he felt so…connected. And at the same time utterly afraid.

Castiel had tried to talk to Dean about what had happened but had been turned away each and every time. Dean seemed well on his way to repressing the entire memory and while Castiel could definitely understand the inclination, a part of him smarted at being the only one left to acknowledge the incident.

Jo’s voice rose in a peel of laughter, dragging Castiel’s attention back to the present. “You have! I can see it all over your face!” she cried and Castiel suddenly wished he’d not joined the game in the first place.

He wished ever harder with what the girl said next. “Who was it?”

Castiel felt something sink sickly inside of him at the question. While it had never been explicitly said, he knew instinctively that Dean hadn’t wanted anyone to know about the kiss. But he couldn’t lie - the rules of the game had been explained and could not be ignored. When one ignored the rules everything was chaos. His life now was testament to that. He opened his mouth to reply when Ellen suddenly interrupted. 

“Oh no Joanna Beth, you know better than that,” she said with a grin. “You only get the one question.”

Jo looked scandalised. “But mom!” she cried and Castiel watched as Ellen laughed happily, pouring herself another drink.

“No buts, now - my turn.”

Another round of questions passed in a blur of tequila and good spirits and Castiel forgot for a moment how close he’d come to breaking Dean’s unspoken trust. Then of course the game turned full circle and it was Jo’s turn again. Castiel had only to look at her face to know what she was going to ask.

So when the dreaded ‘Truth or Dare?’ came Castiel did the only thing he could do. He chose dare. He thought he was out of the proverbial woods, as Dean would say, until he spied the triumph in Jo’s eyes.

“You know if you don’t do the dare you have to answer my question right?” she said deviously and Castiel nodded once. The rules , after all, were clear. The grin that spread across Jo’s face at his answer would have had a demon taking notes.

“I dare you…to kiss Dean Winchester,” she grinned manically. Castiel felt something twist in his stomach as Ellen howled with laughter beside her daughter. In that moment Castiel came to realise that women truly were evil. 

This was…a predicament. The irony was not lost on him that to save people finding out about his and Dean’s first kiss he was going to have to repeat the experience. Dean was definitely not going to like it.

Looking up at the two women before him he weighed his options before coming to a decision. The look on Jo and Ellen’s faces as he scooped up the last shot of tequila and stood almost managed to amuse him - which perhaps proved that alcohol affected humour after all.

“You - you’re actually doing it?” Jo said, her voice a squeak of incredulousness. Castiel ignored her, turning from the room with a determined step, only a slight drunken sway hindering his progress.

“Oh my god he’s doing it!” he heard Jo cry behind him before the sounds of the two women scrambling to follow him took over.

Castiel’s vessel was proving troublesome. He found the heart in his chest pounding and his palms starting to sweat. He took a deep breath before he even realised he needed it, trying to still the ache between his shoulder blades. It was intense and very maddening. He’d experienced nothing like it before and found himself wondering wildly, not for the first time, how humanity put up with the insanity.

Dean was in the next room, seated behind Bobby’s overwhelmingly cluttered desk and pouring over ancient texts. Across from him Sam did the same - scribbling something idly on a notepad at his side as he went. Castiel found himself zeroing in on the beer in front of Dean.

* * *

Dean looked up just as Cas appeared at his side and his eyes widened. “Jesus, are you okay?” he asked, taking in the angel’s mussed hair and haphazard tie. It was the look in his eyes that really had something clenching in his gut though. Cas looked…fucking terrified.

Without answering, the angel leaned around him and plucked the beer from his elbow, upending and downing the thing in a long series of swigs. Dean turned shocked eyes to Sam across from him who looked about as spooked as he probably did before he caught sight of Ellen and Jo at the door.

Ellen and Jo giggling hysterically at the door. Dean’s eyes narrowed. "What the hell did you do to him?” he asked, a surprising anger building in his chest. Cas was…well, Cas was innocent. To an extent anyway. As much as Dean had tried to set his halo a little crooked in the past himself, he found the thought of someone else doing it more than a little annoying.

Jo wheezed, actually _wheezed_ with laughter. “Wait for it!” she giggled and Dean’s worry meter hit an all time high at the tone of her voice. He only had a second to look back to Sammy’s confused face before he saw his brother’s eyes widen upon glancing at Cas. He was too late to do anything himself. By the time he turned his attention back, Cas already had a firm grip on the collar of his jacket and was dragging him up into a hard, desperate and all too painfully familiar kiss.

Dean squeaked - something he would deny to his dying day - bringing his hands up to push at Castiel’s body pressing against him only to find the damn traitorous things simply fisting handfuls of the angel’s friggin' coat instead. He could say that Castiel forced his mouth open; forced the deepening of the kiss and god knew it probably looked like that to anyone watching thank fuck, but in that split second of insanity Dean knew he’d let it happen.

It was a special kind of hell he’d found himself in when he knew from double experience that Castiel was a damn good kisser.

As fast as it begun it was over - Cas pulling away from him, blue eyes hooded and slightly unfocused. Dean fell unceremoniously back into his chair at the loss of Cas’s grip and gaped upwards at the angel. From the sounds of dead silence in the room he had little doubt that everyone else was doing the same.

Swaying slightly, Cas looked over at Ellen and Jo. “Your turn,” he said lowly. And then he very gently, and with a surreal sort of grace, toppled over.


	4. Fangirl

“There’s something off Sammy, I’m telling you!”

Sam rolled his eyes at his brother’s dramatics. “Dean, I was joking when I said the universe was out to get you, you know that right?” he said tiredly.

Sam watched exasperatedly as Dean stewed behind the wheel beside him. Seriously, this was getting more than a little ridiculous. Ever since Ellen and Jo’s stunt the day before they’d failed to kill Lucifer Dean had been jumpier than a mouse in a cattery. He hadn’t even been able to look at poor Cas which amused and exasperated Sam in equal turns.

So the angel had been suckered into a game of truth or dare? So Jo had a devious sense of humour? The entire experience had been nothing short of absolutely hilarious as far as Sam was concerned. Particularly when Cas had sobered up and realised fully what he’d done. The look on the angel’s face as he’d slouched in the back of Jo and Ellen’s four by four the next morning was one Sam was going to treasure for the rest of his days. In some ways it made the memories of Jo and Ellen a bit sweeter - to remember the laughter before the horrors of that day.

Dean though - Sam had never seen his brother act with such a massive lack of humour to a situation. Even the whole tv-show debacle with that character that kinda looked like him had been a pushover next to this. Then again, the last time Sam had jokingly switched the TV over to The G Word Dean had all but put his foot through the screen so maybe there was a little less humour there as well.

“Something’s going on,” Dean ranted. “Something to do with me and Cas.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Seriously Dean, it was one kiss!” he groaned. “And a forced one at that!”

Silence greeted the statement and Sam glanced over at his brother to see that little muscle in his jaw ticking the rumba. It was Dean’s biggest tell - one that had never failed Sam before.

No. Way.

“It was just one kiss right Dean?” he asked, voice tightly controlled. Tick went the muscle. A bark of incredulous laughter escaped Sam before he could help it. The glare this earned him was nothing short of death and very much a confirmation. 

Struggling, Sam fought the laugh into a cough. “Um - when?” he asked, his mind already running over the endless possibilities for ribbing his brother with the ammo he’d just been handed. This was like the holy grail of brotherly teasing. Songs would be sung about this day. He watched with glee as Dean squirmed under his look.

“Gabriel okay,” his brother said sharply. “He stuck Cas and I in an episode of that motherfuckin’ show.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “The G Word?” he asked, his repressed laughter making his shoulders start to ache. He very suddenly got why Dean had appreciated some of the annoying ex-archangel’s stunts. Putting Dean in The G Word was inspired.

“This isn’t funny!” Dean groused, proving Sam was doing a sucky job of keeping his hilarity contained. Sam gave up, laughing long and loud at the look on his brother’s face.

“Are you kidding? This is hilarious!” he enthused, wheezing in a breath.

“It’s wrong!” Dean yelled, only succeeding in making Sam laugh harder. “I am not gay!”

“No, you’re angel-sexual,” Sam enthused before doubling over again. Oh god, it’d been so long since he’d laughed like this - he’d forgotten how much it hurt. Painful in a truly awesome way. For a moment the atmosphere in the car was almost like the old days. Before all the insanity with Lilith and yellow-eyes. Before he'd fallen in with Ruby and his brother had started looking at him like he didn't know him. God knew Sam and Dean's relationship had never been easy - hell no - but Sam missed the days of snarky humour and vengeful teasing. He missed having a big brother.

“You’re an asshole, you know that,” Dean growled and Sam grinned, heart lighter than it had been in months as he wiped at his streaming eyes.

“Come on Dean, this is gold,” he said happily. “If this had happened to me you’d never let me live it down.”

Dean seemed to think about that for a moment before shrugging slightly, all but a signed confession that Sam was right. Sam grinned and settled back into the seat. It was a testament to Dean’s driving that they were still on the road at all. If Sam had gotten that angry over something he had no doubt he would have ploughed into a tree.

“So now we’re going to see Chuck to what? See if you’re cursed?” he asked, amusement still clear in his tone.

Dean nodded seriously. “Something like that.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Why now?” he asked. “The Truth or Dare thing was months ago.”

There was no way he missed Dean’s awkward little seat shift at that statement but he accepted his brother’s muttered “No reason”. He’d had quite enough fun at his brother’s expense for the moment, he knew from experience that if he pushed any further he’d be waking up to blared Led Zeppelin for weeks.

Dean pulled the car into Chuck’s street and killed the engine in front of the author’s ramshackle two story. It was then that something occurred to Sam. Something that made his blood run chill. “Uh…you don’t think Becky’s here do you?” he asked, the trepidation at the possibility thick in his voice. 

It was true the last time they’d met she seemed to have switched her sights to Chuck - thank god - but Sam didn't think he was ever going to forget the fawning look in her eyes as she'd looked up at him for the first time…and the second time…and the time after that…

The girl was just creepy.

Dean, the bastard, laughed shortly as he climbed out of the car. "Man, I hope so,” his brother enthused. “You’d totally deserve it.”

Sam scowled. To his mind nobody deserved a stalker, let alone one whose pastime was writing fictional stories about them doing kinky things with their brother. “Seriously - did Chuck say she’d be here?” he asked, the worry making his voice tip a bit despite himself as they climbed the porch steps and Dean rang the doorbell.

“Dude, I didn’t ask,” Dean shot over his shoulder. “Chill.”

Of course a moment later Becky opened the door. God. Dammit. Sam took in her customary look of animated over-enthusiasm like a swimmer takes in a fin heading his way.

“You’re HERE!” she cried happily and Sam groaned silently, shooting Dean a glare as the jerk smirked at him. A moment later the smirk turned into a look of surprise when Becky lunged, not for Sam but for Dean, dragging the older brother into the house by his arm.

Sam blinked in confusion on the doorstep for a moment. Right…

Stepping inside, Sam shut the door behind him before following Dean's receding figure down the hallway. When he got to the sitting room it was to a scene of confusion.

“Cas?” he asked, taking in the sight of the angel in the center of the room. “What are you doing here?”

Castiel turned serious eyes on him for a moment before shooting a quick glance at Chuck. Sam couldn’t help but notice the way the angel's eyes barely touched on Dean. Now that Sam thought about it actually, Cas had been avoiding Dean's eyes about as much as Dean had been avoiding his. His brother wasn’t the only one freaking then. Sam had to bite back on a grin at the realisation.

“Chuck called me,” Cas finally said stoically which pulled an exasperated sigh from Chuck across the room. For once the author wasn’t dressed in PJs and his customary flannel gown - the universal attire of struggling authors while at home. Becky’s doing most probably.

“For the thousandth time, I didn’t call - ”

“You sent a worded message,” Castiel interrupted and Sam met Chuck’s eyes from across the room. Oh boy…

Dean had obviously worked it out too. “Becky? What the hell?” he asked gruffly, trying and failing to pull his arm out of her grasp. Becky for her part didn’t seem at all phased that she’d been caught out yet again.

“I just thought you two ought to talk,” she said happily, eyes darting between Dean and a confused looking Castiel. “You know…about _stuff_ ,” she said with the air of someone communicating a large and trusted secret.

And then she winked. Badly. The amusement bubbled up inside Sam once more as he started to get an idea of what was going on. It was all over the girl’s face as her affected gaze danced between his brother and Cas.

“Chuck,” Dean growled, low and dangerous. “Tell me you haven’t been publishing again.”

Chuck shook his head emphatically. “No! No of course not!” he said quickly, shrinking under Dean’s glare. “Just…writing…”

The look on Dean’s face could have cracked glass. Sam had to suppress an honest to god snort. "And let me guess, you’ve been letting Becky read the drafts,” Sam said, trying and failing to contain his smirk. Dean turned the look of death on him for his troubles.

“Only the second drafts!” Becky enthused while Chuck rubbed his forehead wearily. “They were…” Becky paused to giggle breathily, eyes ticking between Dean and Castiel again, "excellent.”

Sam coughed hurriedly to cover his laugh as Dean tried to set fire to Becky using a glare alone.

“If I am not needed here I will go,” Castiel suddenly said lowly and Sam watched as his eyes ticked to Dean as he said it. 

His brother looked up and nodded once. “Go,” he said. “We’ll call if we need you.”

Castiel nodded once and then…didn’t move. Sam watched as the angel frowned, looking down at himself in confusion.

“Cas?” Sam asked. All eyes in the room were on the angel as he looked up.

“I am bound,” Castiel said seriously.

“What?” Dean said loudly. “How is that -” Then he hit on what Sam was already latching onto. As one, the brothers turned their eyes on Becky who grinned around the room.

“Oh you can’t go anywhere either,” she said happily to Dean. “Not until you both - “ another breathy giggle, “- kiss.”

For a for a full moment silence reigned before Dean turned an accusing stare on Sam. “Not cursed huh?”

* * *

Dean sighed as he slid to a seat on the floor in the center of the room. The fact he was leaning on an invisible barrier in thin air to achieve the action had lost all novelty a good two hours ago when the damn thing had started moving in on them.

Yes, not only were he and Cas trapped together like fish in a bowl, the bowl was getting goddamn smaller - pushing them both together whether they wanted to be or not.

The afternoon had been lost in yelling, threatening and finally trying to research a way out of their current predicament. The spell Becky had used was one of the uber magics however. Finite and unbreakable save by one thing. A frigging kiss. ANOTHER frigging kiss. Dean growled again, causing Cas across from him to look up.

Of course the angel could have broken out. There was very little on the earth that could hold one after all. Apparently busting out and not killing everyone within a two mile radius didn't necessarily go hand in hand though. It was testament to Dean's growing frustration that he had almost voted for the option more than once in the last few hours.

Night had fallen not long before and with it had gone Dean’s patience. Throwing swear words around like confetti he’d kicked Sam, Chuck and Becky out of the sitting room and ordered the doors barred. If he was going to have to go through with this bitch he was not going to have a goddamn audience for it. Sam had said he’d head back to the motel and Chuck had taken one look at Becky’s excited face before declaring they were going to spend the night at her place, far _far_ away from the temptation to sneak downstairs.

And so here they were. Dean on one side of their invisible bubble and Cas on the other. It had been over half an hour now and Dean still couldn’t bring himself to get it over and done with. Not that Cas had made a move either. The angel seemed just as put out by the situation as he was - a small concession Dean supposed.

It was utterly, freakin' ridiculous that they were back in the same goddamn position again. Twice now he'd known the feel of the damn angel's lips and if that wasn't bad enough, he'd even started goddamn DREAMING about it. It had been the final straw – the one Sam had asked about so friggin' astutely in the car. Having Anna gatecrash a re-run of the damn Gabriel incident in his head had brought to light just how fucked up things had become. 

Dean could still remember the wry look in her eyes as she'd looked the scene over. “So,” she'd said. “This is what you dream about.”

Dean sighed at the memory. It was still a little eerie thinking about Anna – what she'd become after a round of obedience training in heaven. In a way it made him feel marginally more sure in his choice to kiss Cas rather than have Gabriel zap him back to the homeland. As much trouble as the damn action had proven since.

Cas had explained haltingly - and with a lot of goddamn awkwardness - exactly why he'd taken up Jo's dare the night before their failed attempt on Lucifer. Dean had little doubt the liquor had also played a part but he could hardly blame the angel, despite a really harsh wish to. The idiot had been trying to keep a perceived secret after all - something Dean was rather glad of despite the traumatising consequences.

But then, that was just the way Cas was - loyal and stout, almost to a friggin' fault. And the thing was, it was trust that had been shaken most in Dean of late - after the whole nightmare with Sammy and demons coming at them from every corner. As much as he and his brother were improving their issues, it helped to know that someone was always there. Solid, real and dependable.

His Cas.

The first time he'd realised it, Dean had added the sentiment very quickly to the increasingly long list of things he was never, ever going to say out loud. And fuck, but with the way the list was going Dean was surprised he wasn't growing lady parts.

His self depreciating snort at the thought had Cas glancing up at him again from across the way and Dean cocked his head at the angel. “Do you think we’re cursed?” he asked suddenly. As awkward as conversation was likely to be at this point Dean figured leaving himself to his thoughts was going to be worse. He watched as Cas looked down at him a moment before following his lead and sliding to a seat on the floor across from him.

“Cursed how?” he angel asked, his voice as unreadable as ever.

“This,” Dean said, gesturing between them. “How come we always come back to this?”

Castiel’s head dropped into its curious puppy tilt, eyes serious upon his. “You are talking about circumstances forcing us closer,” he said evenly and Dean scoffed.

“That’s one way to say it yeah,” he said flippantly, picking idly at a hole in his jeans. “Another way is the universe wants us to do the dirty.”

Castiel cocked his head. "I don't understand that reference."

Dean rolled his eyes. "It wants us to have sex - get on down with the homosexual sinning," he spat, pouring an element of frustration into the sentence with relish. It was testament to how annoyed he was with everything that he said it at all - in times of stress he did like to share the awkwardness - what better way than to spark a religious debate with a freaking angel.

Dean watched as Cas frowned. "Homosexuality is not a sin," the angel said plainly, voice steeped in fact.

Dean snorted, almost surprised despite himself. Sure the whole 'God hates fags' thing was dickish but...well...if the majority of his angel's were anything to go by, Dean wasn't really holding out high hopes for the morality of their boss. "There's more than a few churches that would argue with you there," Dean said and watched curiously as Cas's frown deepened into a scowl.

"Man's interpretations of the word of God often leave much to be desired," the angel said unhappily, like humankind had messed on the carpet and needed to learn proper manners or something. Hell, Dean half agreed with the sentiment and he WAS a freaking member of humanity.

“And what do you think of the whole thing,” he asked, almost surprising himself with the question. It was probably one of the more surreal conversations he’d ever had with Cas. But then again it wasn’t every day one got to hear the opinions of an angel on same-sex relations. Castiel looked up and pinned him with blue.

“I think love is sacred,” he said surely. "Next to freedom it is humanity's greatest gift."

_Just humanity's?_ It was on the tip of Dean's Tongue to ask but he bit down on it at the last moment - shit was getting awkward enough without fucking _feelings_ joining the mix. Dean suddenly wished he’d told Sam to fetch him a bottle of something. This would probably be a far easier situation to tackle drunk.

“What do you think?” Cas asked suddenly, pulling him out of his wishful thinking.

“About the man-love thing?” Dean asked, watching as Cas nodded - eyes serious. Dean sighed. “I think to each their own. ‘S just not my thing that’s all.”

Castiel sat forward a little, hands clasped before him, elbows on his knees as he fixed Dean with one of his more intense looks. “And yet you kissed me,” he said, his tone scraping across something deep inside of Dean.

Dean scoffed, hearing the panic in the sound loud and clear and wishing he didn’t. “I was forced to kiss you,” he said with forced flippancy. “Doesn’t mean I enjoyed it.”

He knew the moment the words were out they were wrong. It was far easier to say them in his head; easier to lie in the recesses of his own brain. Truth was, he had enjoyed kissing Cas - it was base instinct to want to be close to someone and circumstances as they were Dean hadn’t had much opportunity to be close to anyone for…well, for a very long time. More importantly - and something he could only admit to himself during the deepest, loneliest nights - he didn’t deserve it. Not after all he had seen - especially not after all he had done. As far as he was concerned he’d given up any right to human connection the moment he’d torn into the first soul on that damn table.

And it had been fine - he’d been surviving. He’d accepted the loneliness, wrapping his guilt around him like armour. Then all this messed up shit with Cas had started. Like the angel said, they’d been forced closer and a part of Dean had latched on. Because as much as he believed he didn’t deserve it, it didn’t stop him craving.

Looking up, Dean met Cas’s gaze across the space between them and saw with a certainty the angel knew he was lying just as surely as he did. Didn’t mean Dean was going to give him the damn satisfaction of admitting it though.

Very suddenly a pressure built at Dean's back and shoved him forward a few inches and Dean swore. The two of them were a mere few feet from each other now, their knees almost touching and Dean couldn’t deny that they were running out of time.

Dean watched with trepidation as Cas climbed smoothly to his feet. Damn graceful bastard. A moment later, Cas's hand was extended downwards to him and Dean sighed heavily before taking it – allowing the angel to pull him to his feet. He regretted it an instant later as the barrier behind him came up snug to his back – almost as if the friggin' thing had read their intentions. Dean found himself a scarce foot from Cas yet again, his body humming with an all too familiar sensitivity. He didn't think he'd ever been so physically aware of another person before.

Ever since the Truth or Dare fiasco with Jo and Ellen, Cas had been keeping his distance - his personal space issues a thing of the past since he'd obviously experienced exactly what that sort of closeness usually entailed. Dean had been grateful for it – or at least he thought he had been. Now, with Cas's breath ghosting over his lips once more, a traitorous little voice in Dean's head whispered that he'd missed this. For the longest time Castiel had been the only one willing to get this close – even if it was only out of a lack of tact.

Dean took a deep breath before Castiel suddenly spoke before he could.

“Close your eyes,” the angel said firmly, making Dean's eyebrows hit his hairline. Obviously noticing the expression Cas's eyes softened - slightly, but it was there. “Please.” 

And fuck it all, Dean's breath caught in his throat. It wasn't just because Dean had never heard the word dropped from Cas's lips either. There was something in the angel's tone – a note that made something deep inside of Dean twist slightly.

For perhaps the first time in his life Dean found himself without a smart ass comeback and before he knew it he was closing his eyes. The last glimpse of Cas before he did was likely to stick with him too. Serious and staring – but something in the angel's eyes just as soft as when he'd said please.

The moment darkness closed in around him Dean immediately regretted it as his body's awareness of the situation seemed to triple. The warmth coming off Castiel's body was almost tangible – seeming to buzz across his skin like a thing alive. That coupled with the suspense of waiting for the damn angel to move in had Dean's breath catching all over again despite himself. God, he was like a friggin’ school girl after prom here. He was suddenly a thousand times gladder that he'd kicked all the witnesses out because this was just freakin' embarrassing...

Then Castiel's lips ghosted across his and the situation became less about embarrassment and more about control. He'd never been kissed so softly in his life – a bare touch of skin on skin that somehow seemed to skewer through him far more intensely than any other more carnal action. Dean sucked in a shattered breath, feeling the ridiculousness of it ringing in his ears as his body started to shake - shake for fuck's sake... He had so not signed up for this...

The moment the thought surfaced something within Dean seemed to snap and he'd already made up his mind to pull away – shrinking fish bowl be damned - when Castiel did something that thoroughly and utterly short-circuited the action, along with any sort of functioning higher processes.

Trailing a hand up his neck was bad enough but when the angel carded his fingertips through the hair at the base of Dean's skull Dean was suddenly and utterly lost. It was his weak point – the one little trick that so few people ever found. And Cas had discovered it first go.

Fuck.

Dean couldn't stop the shiver as the angel curled his fingers slightly, scratching oh so tantalisingly across the spot that made Dean's knees go weak at the best of times. Then Castiel tilted his head slightly and teeth grazed Dean's bottom lip...

Dean moaned. Actually. Fucking. Moaned.

Jesus – he was never living this down. Not that it seemed to matter at all at the moment because Cas had suddenly gotten very, very serious about making him forget anything else besides the feel of lips on his and hands, hot and heavy on his skin.

Dean wasn't quite sure when Cas had pressed him up against the barrier or when his own hands had gotten tangled in the lapels of the angel's damn jacket but when Cas's mouth opened beneath his, pressing the kiss deeper Dean found himself arching into the new sensation despite the little voice in the back of his head telling him he was losing every god-damn masculine point he'd ever acquired.

It was insane and mental and every other god damn mad word the english language had ever come up with but Dean found his capacity to care very quickly failing. The world had condensed down to hands, lips and – oh god – craving; intense, heady craving. Because for all his experience; for all the kisses and touches he'd swapped over the years nothing had ever so thoroughly and completely turned him inside out.

That it was a man...that it was _Cas_ making him feel this certainly didn't seem to matter to his goddamn traitorous body which had suddenly decided to remind him exactly how much it was enjoying things. When Cas pressed impossibly closer, sliding one leg between his with stomach jolting smoothness Dean couldn't have stopped his broken moan if his life had depended on it.

That was of course the moment the barrier chose to fall.

Suddenly finding himself trying to lean against thin air, Dean yelped – one of the many things he was never going to mention about this night to anyone EVER – and staggered, only saved from a sprawling position on the floor by the couch back behind him. Probably a good thing because Cas would have most likely followed him down. And now he was thinking about the angel on top of him. DAMN it…

As it was, he ended up slamming ass first into a sharp corner – something which he just knew was going to bruise – staring dumb-struck at Castiel as the angel hovered over him.

_Holy mother of fuck..._

Castiel drew in a shaking breath in front of him before a smirk, a real live frigging _smirk_ overtook the angel's features.

“You enjoyed that,” he said surely, voice like a gravel path and brooking no argument.

And then, without waiting for an answer the angel was gone, the faint sound of wings hanging heavily in the air.

For a full minute there was silence. Then Dean swore. Loudly.

* * *

The next morning Becky snuck a peak through the door, a wicked grin spreading across her face as she took in the empty sitting room.

Excellent.

Ninja-ing across the carpet she bee-lined for Chuck's cluttered bookshelf, moving old tombs aside to reveal a hidden camera on the sixth shelf - little recording light blinking happily at her. Suppressing a squeal of joy Becky hit the stop button before hurriedly rewinding the tape.

It took a couple of stop/starts before she hit the moment she was looking for. She watched rapt as onscreen-Dean yelled the rest of the group out into the hallway, leaving him and Castiel alone in the room. The next half an hour passed with Becky watching the goings on of the two like a hawk, filling in the blanks with her special brand of enthusiastic commentary.

Every look between them was smouldering; every sigh longing. Dean's penchant for running his hand through his hair exasperatedly was obviously telling of his want to grab the angel into a harsh embrace. Castiel's piercing stare when Dean wasn't looking was one of longing. Every twitch of a hand, shift of stance and jilted sigh was a sure sign of their need to tear eachother’s clothes off - Becky was positive about it. As the moment of truth drew nearer, the invisible barrier of the spell pushing them closer she could feel the squeal of glee rising in her throat.

Then they stood - oh so tantalisingly close, Dean's fingers obviously itching to run through Castiel's silken hair; Castiel's lips yearning for the touch of the rough hunter's...

Becky couldn't suppress the squeak of excitement when on-screen-Dean closed his eyes. This was it! THIS WAS IT!!

And then on-screen Castiel suddenly turned, looking straight at the camera. Becky's mouth dropped open as she watched the angel raise a hand, his fingers twisting slightly through the air.

The picture dissolved into static. And Becky dissolved into hysterics.


	5. Famine

Dean was confused.

He hadn't seen Cas for a week following Becky's little stunt which he was both happy and - fuck it all - annoyingly put out about. He couldn't really put his finger on why exactly either. God only knew he should have been wanting to never see the winged bastard again after the embarrassment of that night.

If he let himself Dean could still remember the feel of Cas's body against his; the particular pressure of fingertips against skin. He could still remember - god help him - his fucking moan and the triumphant smirk on the angel's face as he'd hovered over him in the aftermath.

That fucking smirk. It plagued him, seriously. Because, much to his masculinity's disgust, Cas had been right - Dean had really, really fucking enjoyed that kiss. The knowledge of it was like a constant itch he couldn't scratch. Always there; always reminding him. And despite all this that should have had him running in the opposite direction, he found himself missing the bastard.

Then Sam had gone and found a possible Enochian symbol on the heart of one of their latest hunt victims and Dean had been mildly disgusted to note that his hands were actually frigging shaking as he'd pulled out his phone to consult their resident Enochian expert.

That the damn feather duster turned up a few seconds later practically right on top of him didn't exactly help matters.

* * *

Castiel was confused.

Which was rather disconcerting after a millennia of absolute certainty. It was perhaps one of the worst things about rebellion. Not knowing what to make of things, unknowing whether you were doing the right thing or not.

The kiss...the kiss had not been his intention. Or rather the way it had happened hadn't been. It had been...irrational. Something altogether alien to him after a life of cool certainty.

Since he'd Raised the hunter he'd been watching Dean bury his thoughts of hell; turn away from himself; lie and joke when the subject became too painful. As a creature born to honesty it was frustrating to witness. And so, when Castiel had come up against one uncomfortable truth he could do something about he'd gripped the chance tight.

Dean had lied when he said he hadn't enjoyed their first kiss. Castiel had seen it written all over his face. And so he had proved him wrong. He'd forced Dean into admitting at least one thing about himself he was trying to repress. The action had been born out of frustration and that was obviously where things had gone wrong. Castiel had been so focused on Dean, he had not counted on the effect it would have on himself.

Their forced closeness up until that point had been just that – forced. As much as both former kisses had changed him, in a way they had remained safely out of his control. The last one though...

He could still remember the sensations – sharp and sweet. The taste of Dean on his mouth – the whiskey tang of the hunter's breath. But more than that – he remembered the feel of Dean moaning into him; the tangible ache that had taken up in his chest as the man had arched against him. And the spike of pure, unadulterated joy he'd experienced in the knowledge that he had caused both.

Yes Castiel was confused. And so when he'd received the call from Dean, asking his aid in one of their cases, Castiel had been torn. He no longer knew how to act around the hunter. But there was no denying a part of him that had been paining him; a proverbial thorn in his side since he and Dean had separated had dissipated the moment he'd heard the voice on the other end of the phone.

To that end, Castiel had flown to Dean's side, his decision made. Landing so close had not been part of it...

* * *

Sam was confused.

Torn between hilarity and uncertainty, he had no idea what to think when it came to the matter of his brother and Castiel and...whatever it was going on between them. On the one hand, Dean's face as he'd stomped back into their motel room the morning of what Sam had taken to dubbing the Becky Fiasco in his head had been nothing short of pure gold. On the other – the fact the face hadn't subsided in the days and weeks that passed was one of confusion. What the hell had happened?

Of course when he'd tried to bring it up with Dean the stubborn bastard had shut him down. Hard. So Sam was left to wonder. And worry – because things were just getting downright strange.

He'd almost wished he hadn't found the Enochian symbol the moment he'd seen Dean's expression at the news. Though when Cas appeared mere inches from his brother the look on both their faces was almost worth it.

What happened following...not so much...

* * *

The Winchester brothers burst into the back room to find Castiel, hand raised in concentration at the far wall.

"I have him tethered," Cad said surely and Dean blinked. Right...

He watched the taught strain play across Castiel's back as the angel intoned in Enochian.

"Manifest yourself," Cas ordered lowly, before lowering his hand. Dean raised an eyebrow - eyes ticking around the still decidedly cupid-less room.

"So?" he asked, taking a step forward. "Where is he?"

To say the hug was a surprise would be an understatement. Being lifted off your feet by a giggling cupid and jiggled around tends to come as a bit of a shock after all. When the damn cherub dropped him and headed for Cas, the realisation that he'd just been half molested by a fat naked man was more so.

All in all, the way things went down – Dean could be forgiven for not recognising the bastard sooner. It was only as the creepy mo-fo actually managed to pick Sam's great Sasquatch self up and shake him around that Dean got a good look at his face.

His very familiar face.

"Son of a BITCH!" he yelled, very suddenly drawing all eyes to him, including the damn cupids. Dean watched as the bastard's eyes rounded upon hitting on his face. It was him all right, he frigging RECOGNISED him. For a moment all was silence before the cupid suddenly grinned.

"Hi Dean, how was the pie?"

* * *

Sam was getting a migraine, he just knew it. To be fair, his entire life of late had been one big migraine – not least the points where he'd been hopped up on demon blood. This though...this was an all new brand of stressful.

Thankfully the yelling had subsided, though not before Dean had almost broken his hand on the cupid's face. You'd think the stupid jerk had learned not to physically assault angels by now but no - Dean in an uproar was even stupider than Dean…well, normally. Sighing, Sam rubbed a weary hand through his hair as he tried to get the story straight in his head.

They had managed to learn that the cupid had not been behind the latest spate of attacks. Unfortunately that wasn't the only subject up for debate.

"So you met the cupid a few months ago?" Sam clarified, watching as Dean's eye twitched – actually twitched as he glared across the room. The cupid, after a short flurry of tears following Dean's failed attempt at assault had since fallen into a hurt sort of pout – staring at his glaring brother with shiny, water-filled eyes. Kicked puppy had nothing on this look.

"Right," Dean growled. "When he put the whammy on me and Cas."

"Now we don't know -" Sam began, only to be cut off as the cupid spoke up.

"It was my job," he sniffled plaintively, causing Sam's eyes to widen.

"You mean you actually did?" he asked incredulously. What the hell?

Castiel, who had been painfully silent following the encounter suddenly spoke up – his voice as stoic as it had ever been. "He couldn't have," he explained, frowning at the pouting cupid. "I would have known..."

"Ho boy yeah," the cupid enthused, grinning at Castiel like he'd just won a prize. "Getting you to look the other way was a very tricky endeavour let me tell you."

Yep – definitely migraine material. And if he was feeling this then Dean must be-

"This is our fucking LIVES!" Dean yelled almost on cue, causing Sam to wince. "You can't just mess people around like this!"

The cupid seemed genuinely shocked at Dean's outburst, turning large innocent eyes on the hunter. "The orders were very clear-" he started only for Sam to cut in, his voice a lot calmer than he thought it was going to be and, from the look on Dean's face, obviously a lot calmer than his brother thought the situation warranted.

"Orders from where?" Sam asked, pulling the cupid's gaze to him.

"From heaven of course," the cupid grinned and Dean gaped.

"Heaven ordered that you bring Dean and I together?" Castiel asked and Sam was mildly amused to note that Cas and incredulous went together about as well as a bear and a tutu.

"Yup," the cupid nodded happily. "Pretty high up too." 

Oh hell... "How high?" Sam asked and Dean shot him that look – the one that said 'you suspect something so out with it.' This instance though – Sam really, really didn't want to be right.

"Top of the chain," the cupid said, winking in his direction - like this was something to be proud of. Sam groaned silently as Dean's mouth dropped open. He'd been right. This was so not good.

Surprisingly Castiel beat his brother to the punch. "God ordered this?" the angel asked and the proverbial tutu-ed bear was now doing cartwheels. Though, to be fair, Dean looked far worse. Not that Sam could blame him - this was hard to stomach as it was and Sam wasn't even the one directly affected.

All in all, when his brother suddenly snarled, ripping his gun from it's holster to train it on the cupid Sam couldn't really blame him.

"Undo it!" Dean ordered and Sam watched as the cupid's eyes widened on the gun now pointed at him.

"Dean," Castiel spoke suddenly, the warning clear in his voice.

"No Cas!" Dean said, tone harsh with anger. "They can't do this - they can't." 

"Orders-" the cupid began only to be harshly cut off.

"Screw orders!" Dean yelled. "Undo it now or so help me I'll pump you full of holes." 

"That won't kill him," Castiel said, deadpan beside him.

"Doesn't matter," Dean growled. "I'll find a way eventually."

The cupid's face drained of colour at that statement and Sam watched as a dark expression of satisfaction passed through Dean's eyes upon sighting it. He sometimes forgot just how scary Dean could be given the right provocation. Not that he'd really seen getting set up with an angel as being...well, possible for starters so...

"Killing me won't undo anything," the cupid said in a trembling voice. "Your setup was a joint task."

Sam watched as Dean's eyes narrowed. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means he wasn't the only cupid brought in on the job," Castiel supplied. "It took more than one to orchestrate events."

Dean cocked his head at the cupid. "How many?"

Sam knew none of them were going to like the answer the moment the cupid swallowed nervously before opening his mouth. "Uh...all of us," the big naked man said hesitantly. Then seemed to quail under Dean's look. "It was a big job," he explained, his voice capable of crawling under doors.

"What does that mean?" Dean asked, a crazy sort of urgency now filtering into his tone. Sam watched as he turned desperate eyes to Castiel. "What the hell does that mean?"

Sam turned to Cas as well, like so many other times in recent memory. Sam couldn't recall exactly when Castiel had become such an integral part of the team, only that he had. They weren't just the Winchesters anymore – somewhere along the way they'd become Team Free Will, capitals and all. And now this...this might very well tear them apart.

The tone of Cas's voice as he spoke said very plainly that the angel was thinking along the same lines. "It means," Castiel started before turning serious eyes on Dean. "That there's nothing we can do."

Sam watched as his brother met Cas's eyes for a full loaded minute before he turned and stormed out the door.

* * *

Worst. Case. EVER.

If molestation by a fat, naked man on happy pills, not to mention the truth that had come out because of it wasn't bad enough, now Dean had to ride solo in an attempt to keep his little brother from falling off the demon-blood-abstinence bandwagon.

Fucking Famine. This guy was definitely his least favourite horseman. Not that the entire reason for Dean's irritation could really be blamed on him of course.

To say Dean was upset about the cupid's big reveal would have been like calling the world slightly bowed at the edges. The whole mess of…whatever it was between he and Cas had been bad enough before he knew it was divine intervention, but now…

He had no idea what to make of any of it.

Truthfully, a part of him was relieved. There was a method to the madness now - there was a reason behind it all. God did it. He had someone to blame, as useless as the sentiment was. But there was also the rage - the rage that someone could reach down and pluck control of his emotions from him so completely. That one hopped up deity could do what Michael hadn't been able to: force him into a destiny not of his making. It was sickening and it was wrong.

And then there was the last in the trio of emotions. The one he tried and failed to deny.

The utter and complete disappointment.

Cas and him…for all the insanity and ridiculousness of what had become of their friendship…relationship…whatever, Dean couldn't deny that they had developed a…closeness. In some ways, now that he had something to blame, he could better admit to himself just how much the last few months had affected him.

He remembered...everything. How Cas tasted - absurdly - like coffee and how when he kissed, it was with his whole body - hands and touch and sure pressure... But more than that, he remembered Cas's eyes on him, knowing him better than almost anyone; the quizzical head-tilt when the world proved too unusual for someone born of heaven. Somewhere along the way Dean had started to look on Cas as not just a useful ally; not even just a friend. Cas had become…god he didn't know…

And it didn't matter. Not anymore. Dean closed his eyes tightly. None of it was real. The thoughts, the feelings…the swoop in his gut at the sound of wings…

Dean opened his eyes to find the seat beside him in the Impala suddenly occupied by an angel cradling what was probably the biggest bag of White-castle he'd ever seen. Dean watched incredulous as Cas pulled a burger out of the bag, hurriedly unwrapping it.

"Are you serious?" Dean asked, his tone fully conveying the ridiculousness of the situation.

Cas only had eyes for his burger as he grinned - actually grinned - something Dean was probably going to have nightmares about.

"These make me...very happy," the angel said in a voice that would have probably better suited a bedroom. Dean rolled his eyes. The first time he was seeing the damn angel happily passionate about something and it was a god-damn cheeseburger. Of course his brain then supplied the image of Cas's future self definitely being very happily passionate about something not food related and Dean very suddenly wanted to bang his head against a brick wall.

"What I don't understand is," Cas began, pulling Dean out of his thoughts of self-harm. "What is your hunger Dean?"

"Huh?" Dean frowned. Cas took another bite of his burger.

"Well, slowly but surely this whole town is falling victim to famine," the angel explained. "But so far, you seem unaffected."

The words were out of Dean's mouth before he could stop them. "What? You think I should be falling all over you?"

The look Cas ticked over to him didn't lose any of its potency just because the angel was busy taking another bite of burger which Dean thought a little funny. Or he would have if he hadn't suddenly been so damn uncomfortable. He suddenly had a keen sympathy for bugs under a microscope.

"No," Cas said finally, easing his scrutiny a little. "Not necessarily. Just because the cupid marked us doesn't mean I should be your greatest craving."

"You are not…" Dean spluttered a little, "I do not CRAVE you," he said loudly.

Cas just looked at him again, eyes very blue and managing to get under Dean's skin with an ease that Dean found more than a little stupid. Bastard. Dean turned away from him, glaring angrily across the road to the morgue. He almost cheered when he spotted the demon exiting, briefcase in hand.

Conversation over.

As they followed the demon though, Cas's words stuck with him. It was true, he was unaffected by the hunger that seemed to be felling everyone in town. Or rather, he was the opposite of affected. He wasn't hungry…for anything. Food, sex, alcohol - he'd thought on it, actually tried to force himself into the mood more than once but he just…couldn't. There was a hole somewhere inside of him and it seemed to be feeding on itself. If he was being truthful he could admit that it was a fucking terrifying feeling. Dean might have almost taken wanting to jump Cas's bones over this...whatever this was.

Okay fine - he totally would have.

* * *

Castiel was not affected by famine. His vessel, Jimmy - he was, which was why he'd consumed over one hundred glorious White-castle burgers within the last twelve hours. Castiel though, kept his wits. When he'd entered the restaurant intending to cut the ring from Famine's finger he'd been fully aware as Famine's power had rushed into his vessel, ripping control from his grasp and leaving him trapped inside a body running on instinct. He'd been fully aware as Famine gloated over his fall. And he was fully aware when Dean entered after him and was captured.

He listened, unable to tear his vessel from it's eating to watch as Famine spoke to Dean. "The other Mister Winchester," he called him, which meant the horseman already knew that Sam was close. Something that didn't bode well for any of them.

Castiel listened as the horseman taunted Dean, his voice cracked and rotting - every syllable making Castiel's vessel writhe around him in hunger. It was all he could do to concentrate on the words as Famine asked Dean why he thought he wasn't affected, the question a gross copy of the one Castiel himself had asked in the car.

"I like to think it's because of my strength of character," Cas heard Dean say, bravado cloaking the words like a shield.

Not that it was of much use as Famine's reply cut straight through it. "I disagree..."

Then Castiel heard Dean's strained gasp - the pain etched into the sound with a sharpness that for a moment returned Castiel to himself. He was able to glance up and see the horseman, hand on Dean's chest as the hunter buckled.

"Yes, I see," Famine said, his voice like hot grease. "That's one deep, dark nothing you got there Dean."

Something in Castiel sunk at the words. He'd known Dean was broken; he'd even known why but this…

The horseman chuckled. "Can't die. Can't live," he taunted. "You hunger so desperately for oblivion Dean that you're creating it - within yourself." The voice suddenly took on a more sinister edge. "Let us see, if we cannot help it along hmm?"

Dean's yell this time could not be contained and Castiel clawed at the edges of his mental cage on hearing it. He couldn't do this, he couldn't stand by - he needed to act - needed to help…

He needed.

Castiel stilled. He hungered.

He hadn't been affected by famine. It didn't mean he couldn't be. It was amazing the strength permission gave an invading force. Where battering rams and artillery failed, being ushered through an open gate was foolproof. And Castiel knew Famine's power was there, waiting.

It was an insane risk, one he shouldn't have even contemplated taking. If humans could do so much damage under Famine's influence he dreaded to think of his capacity for destruction. But it was Dean.

In the end it's what everything came down to - Dean. Castiel descended into hell; he rebelled; he felt...for Dean. Castiel closed his eyes, opened his mind and ushered famine through the door.

* * *

Dean was falling, sinking into a darkness within himself. The physical pain tore through him like his blood had been set alight but it was nothing to the feeling of his mind rotting with darkness and breaking apart. His very soul felt like it was disintegrating, drowning in the nothing he'd conjured for himself.

And the really awful part? A dark piece of him relished it.

It was true what Famine had said - he was tired. Tired of fighting; tired of living; tired of death. He just didn't want to be…anything anymore. And now he was getting his wish.

That it hurt like hell seemed a trivial price to pay.

Gasping raggedly, his voice lost in the agony, he bit down on the horror. And then very suddenly it stopped and Dean felt himself falling.

He opened his eyes to a scene of chaos, demons all around him were circling – closing in on him as he fell back...no, as he was pulled...

"Dean!" The voice was harsh in his ear. "Dean, stay with me!"

Dean blinked, his eyelids dragging as he struggled to make sense of the situation. Famine...Famine had been... And then Cas. Cas was the one behind him – his chest warm at his back, arm strong and real and solid around his waist. Distantly he heard Famine's rotten laugh.

"Clever dog," the horseman taunted. "You've learned a new trick."

Dean felt rather than heard Cas's growl. "You will not touch him again," he said, his voice carrying all the makings of an oath.

"We shall see," Famine said, his tone suggesting he was humouring a small child. It made something deep inside Dean clench just to hear it. He watched through bleary eyes as Famine raised his eyes to his gang of demons. Before he could speak the order though, a new voice cut in.

"Let them go," it said and Dean's vision swam as it tripped towards the door. Sam. Blood-stained Sam...

"No..." he tried but his voice wouldn't work. The arm holding him tightened slightly as Sam's gaze ticked to them.

"Get him out of here," Sam ordered.

No. This couldn't happen...

"Sam no," he tried again, this time managing a broken wheeze.

"Go!" Sam barked and Dean felt the hesitation in Cas behind him before, with an all too familiar tug behind his ribs, the scene clashed in a swirl of colours.

* * *

Dean awoke to the familiar feel of Bobby's couch beneath his cheek, something which at first comforted him until he remembered exactly where they'd been.

How in the hell...

"You've been asleep a long time," a voice suddenly said, causing Dean to start on the couch. He felt like an idiot a moment later when he realised where it was coming from. Cas sat on the floor by his side, his trench-coated back to the couch. From where he was lying Dean could have reached out and run a hand through the hair spilling over the angel's collar. Not that he had any inclination to. At all. Dammit.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, shocked to find his voice hoarse and painful. Without a word Castiel retrieved a bottle of water from the coffee table and handed it to him, his eyes concerned.

"He's downstairs," Cas said as Dean drank deeply. That's of course when Dean heard it. The yells and pleading - muffled but just as heartbreaking as if they'd been in the room with him. Sam... His mind chose that moment to supply the image of his brother, eyes hard as he faced off against Famine. Mouth stained with blood...

Oh Sammy.

"How long was I out?" Dean asked, struggling to a seating position despite his muscle's protests.

"Two days," Cas said, which caused Dean to fall back rather heavily once more. Two friggin' days? What the hell? "You passed out," Cas explained. "Sam destroyed Famine and drove you here. Then Bobby locked him downstairs."

Dean closed his eyes as a particularly rough yell sounded from the basement.

"He just has to get it out of his system again," Cas said, trying and failing to be reassuring as another of Sam's screams echoed upward.

Dean winced, trying once more to sit up. Cas was on his feet the moment the pained gasp left his lips and Dean suddenly found his vision full of worried angel.

"Stay still," Cas ordered, voice soft despite the reprimand. "Famine's power did you a lot of damage."

No kidding. Dean could feel it - not just the physical ache but something deeper - like a hole in his chest. It was an automatic move to pull at the hem of his shirt, lifting it... He had to see - had to see that he was still whole, because fuck knows he didn't feel it. The black handprint branded into his sternum was a wholly unpleasant surprise. Dean felt the rather surreal need to cringe away from his own skin. The instinct was short circuited a moment later when Cas's hand reached over and covered the mark.

"What are you-" Dean began, only to be cut off as a warmth spread outward from Cas's touch, tingling through aching muscles and seemingly knitting a bit of the hole back together.

"Oh," Dean gasped, hoarse voice low and sounding like he'd just been engaged in a far more pleasant strenuous activity than battling wills with a horseman of the apocalypse. He didn't register closing his eyes, only knew that when he felt Cas's breath on his neck it was a sensation made all the more potent for the darkness.

"I-I'm sorry," Cas said lowly against his throat as the warmth slowly dissipated, leaving Dean cold again - though not as torn to pieces as before. Opening his eyes Dean found Cas's face only inches from his, the angel's expression one of uncertainty.

"I'm sorry," Cas said again, voice low and as gravelly as ever. "I did not know it would be like that."

Dean wanted to say 'like what?' He wanted to pretend he hadn't felt it - the heady sense connection; his body's hum as it had aligned itself with...whatever part of Cas had just gone into that. But the words wouldn't come - he was just so...tired. Instead he could only reach up, covering Cas's hand with his own on his chest.

"What did you do?" he asked, knowing he'd regret the quiet intimacy in his own voice later but not able to muster up the energy to care just then.

Without speaking Cas's head ducked and Dean followed his gaze as the angel lifted their entwined hands off the mark on his chest. The mark that was no longer there.

Well damn.

A sudden clearing of a throat made Dean jump and Castiel sat up quickly, taking his warmth with him. Dean looked over to the doorway to the kitchen, his face heating despite his best efforts. It was nothing to the redness of Bobby's though.

"If you're done lounging about, grub's up," the old hunter said gruffly before turning and wheeling back the way he'd come. And despite the absolute horror of the situation; despite the fact he could still hear his little brother's screams filtering up from the basement; despite the knowledge that everything he was currently feeling in Cas's presence was false - Dean laughed.

It was a broken sound and it didn't last long but it was there.


	6. Knock, Knock, Knockin'

The days following were hell. When Dean wasn't listening to his brother's pained cries at the foot of the basement stairs he was outside, wandering the broken down paths of Bobby's junkyard, bottle of jack in hand. Not that the alcohol helped. Nothing did. Nothing except...

But no - he wasn't going there.

He'd avoided Cas as much as he could given their close quarters. There were times though, when he could feel the angel's eyes on him; following him - watching for the tell-tale signs of Dean's skirmish with Famine and what it had revealed. It never failed to make Dean grind his teeth. The blowup was bound to happen sooner or later but even Dean couldn't have predicted the biting ferocity to it when it did.

* * *

"Stop looking at me like that," Dean growled, voice rough with liquor. Across from him, leaning against the door of Sam's self imposed prison, Castiel cocked his head. For once Dean's little brother was silent beyond the steel door, making Cas's reply ring clear.

"How am I looking at you?" he asked quizzically, his calm tone grating across Dean's already fired nerves, spilling gasoline.

"Like you're waiting for me to drop dead at any moment," Dean said roughly. "Stop it, I'm fine."

"You are not fine," Castiel said surely, his voice brooking no argument.

Dean took a deep pull of the bottle in his hand - Wild Turkey today - uncaring that the action all but proved Cas's point. "It's none of your damn business how I am," he said gruffly.

Cas frowned at the statement, something Dean struggled not to feel bad for. "It is my business-" Castiel began, only to pause as Dean snorted harshly.

"Why, because God's decided we belong together?" he said angrily, words cutting and wrong but not finding it within himself to stop. "Going to be a good little soldier and follow this order too?"

For a long moment Castiel only glared as him and Dean looked away despite himself. "Just do us both a favour and stay the fuck away from me," he said, uncaring that his voice sounded broken and harsh. Uncaring too that nothing within him could back up the statement with anything other than apology and horror. He didn't indulge the feelings though - not even when the sound of wings pervaded the silence and he looked up to find himself alone in the dark.

* * *

Dean was upset. This was nothing inherently new to Castiel - Dean had been upset from the moment Castiel met him. The hunter had even sometimes been upset with him, particularly in the early days when Castiel was still among the legion. But never before had he borne the brunt of such unbridled anger.

Castiel was alarmed to find the sensation prickled at him like nothing else he'd experienced. The frustration and ire he felt directed at him seemed to seed in his mind and grow it's likeness. He found himself wanting to rage and yell himself. And so he'd left, lest his emotions drag him into losing control.

Emotions. It was a trivial word, or it had been once upon a time. Ever since he'd rebelled - perhaps even a time before that - Castiel had felt his susceptibility to the range of them growing. After living his life in a calm shell of obedient stability it was a painful shock to find his thoughts and feelings raging around him. Even more surreal was the certainty that this, him feeling - almost as humans did - shouldn't have been possible.

He was not human, he knew that. And he was not falling. His grace was intact even with his powers diminished by his isolation from heaven. He was still an angel. And yet he was achieving what angel's should not. He was feeling.

If his increased awareness of Dean wasn't proof enough, his own reaction to Dean's angry words certainly was. Cas wanted to punch something. And so, he flew to the Himalayas and caused an avalanche. In his defence it was a rather small one and there had been no people in the area. All in all, taking his temper out on the environment could probably be forgiven.

The fact that he'd had to in the first place...likely not.

He wondered idly what his angelic brethren would make of him now. A broken traitor with filthy mortal habits. And tied to a human no less. 

Of course that was probably the biggest of his problems right now.

He'd thought on it from every angle. For good nor ill there was no logical reason for God to have ordered he and Dean marked. And even if he had, he must have known that Dean at least would rebel against it the moment he found out it had been orchestrated. Castiel himself...well, he didn't quite know how he...yes, how he _felt_ about things. 

Contrary to Dean's harsh jab, he was not willing to simply fall into line with this particular order, even if it had come from God himself. Something which had utterly and thoroughly horrified him the moment he'd realised it of course. It had been one thing to rebel against 'upper-management' as Sam had once called his superiors, but to go against the will of God...

Castiel was in unknown and utterly terrifying territory. And he was alone. 

He hadn't realised how much he'd come to rely on the Winchesters to keep him grounded; keep him sane. Being cut off from heaven had done more than cull his power, it had isolated him from everyone and everything he'd ever known. Dean and Sam, even Bobby to an extent - they had been his only connection; his only reminder of why he'd rebelled in the first place.

And he was losing them. All because God had chosen to try and force events. For the first time in his millennia of existence Castiel found himself angry at his father. In retrospect it was that anger that drove him to find the Cupid. Anger and frustration. Because while he certainly couldn't fix the situation, he could try to understand it.

* * *

“Brother!” the Cupid enthused upon spotting Castiel, only to get a rude shock a moment later as the other angel grabbed him – dragging him through flight to an empty lot behind the club the cherub had been haunting. The Cupid thought it rather rude, particularly as he hadn’t even managed to find the couple he’d been assigned yet. One look at the expression on Castiel’s face though and the Cupid hastily re-shuffled his priorities.

It wasn’t like he was going off job after-all - Dean Winchester and the angel Castiel were his charges too. Contrary to popular belief his job didn’t end with the prick of the proverbial arrow, oh no. Fixing his smile in place the Cupid turned to face his glowering charge.

“What can I do for you brother?” he asked cheerfully.

“You are going to tell me what was done to us,” Castiel ordered. “Exactly.”

“Done to you?” the Cupid asked in confusion.

“How did you mark Dean Winchester and I?” Castiel growled and the Cupid was a bit taken aback at the bubbling emotion in his brother’s voice. He would be the first to admit it, when he’d first heard tell of the job of Castiel and Dean he’d been rather dubious. Dean Winchester was one thing - though obviously extraordinary, the man was still human and so subject to human attachment; human emotions. Castiel however…

The Cupid raised his brows at the angel even now glaring at him in very real frustration. The Cupid was a guru of human emotion - it was in his job description. It took only one look at Castiel to know where his brother's current anger stemmed from. Turmoil, frustration…unrequited love. This…should not have been possible.

“Oh no,” the cupid said, unable to hide the startled tone in his voice. “We didn't mark you guys.”

And they hadn’t. Something that made what was happening even more incredible. The Cupid found the happiness bubbling up inside of him, as it always did upon a job well done.

“You said-” Castiel frowned only to be cut off as the cupid slapped him jovially on the back.

“The directive was matchmaking you silly goose,” the cupid said with a grin, pausing when Castiel's frown didn't let up. It was unsurprising in a way - the higher ranks of his brethren were nothing if not lacking in subtlety. Given the task he and his fellow Cupids had been assigned they probably would have just twisted the emotions into the right shape and been on their merry way. Poor, short-sighted ducks.

"Each couple requires something different," the cupid explained. "Sometimes you can change the people but...well, you two?" the Cupid laughed lightly. "With everything you are and all you've seen - messing with your emotions was just going to end in tears."

Not to mention blood, the Cupid thought, thinking back to the dark look in Dean's eyes when he'd been told of the match. Scary human that one. He could see why the universe had chosen him as Michael’s vessel.

"So what did you...mess with?" Castiel asked, as though testing the phrase out. No doubt Dean Winchester’s influence. The Cupid grinned.

"Why, everything else silly," he said happily causing Castiel's frown of confusion to deepen.

"What does that mean?" the angel asked, glaring in the face of the Cupid’s proud euphoria.

"We gave the universe a little nudge," the Cupid explained. "Made the world believe you two belonged together. Which you do of course."

It had been a dickens to organise as well. He’d not known why Father had gone to so much trouble for something that had such little hope of success. Until now of course. The unbridled emotion playing across his brother’s face was totally and utterly worth it all. As all love was in the end.

“You...” Castiel stumbled incredulously. “You changed the fabric of reality?”

“Mmmhmm,” the Cupid said happily. “It was a big job.”

* * *

An hour later Castiel was still processing things. Perched high in the Himalayas, he idly trailed one hand through untouched snow as his mind worked. 

His mind. His emotions. They hadn't been touched by the Cupid's power. Castiel didn't know if he was relieved or more upset. Because if he hadn't been marked, that meant everything he was experiencing...everything he was feeling, truly was his. 

It was foolish of course to have thought they weren’t. If he was being completely honest with himself, something he’d never really had to consciously try for before now, he could admit that the possibility of these feelings had always been there inside of him. Loyalty, devotion…and something else that made his breath stutter in his throat when he thought on it. They had always been there - the Cupids had just nudged his interest in a certain direction.

In a way it was rather ingenious. The Cupid had been right when he'd said that altering Dean's thoughts or perceptions would not have been taken well – case in point their situation right now. And so the Cupids had orchestrated events to simply...suggest the possibility.

The power of suggestion. Castiel suddenly understood quite clearly what the phrase meant.

Because the Cupids had succeeded – at least on Castiel's end. His reaction to Famine's power had been proof enough of that. He could still remember the hunger ripping into him – the need. Need to save Dean; need to keep him; need to make him his.

Dean should know what the Cupid had told him; Castiel knew that much. To leave the hunter under false impressions was only going to lead to chaos. Mind made up, Castiel spread his wings and flew on to Bobby's. The old hunter would know where the boys were.

Of course when he found them, Sam and Dean were dead.

* * *

Sam had been having thanksgiving dinner - his first thanksgiving dinner - when he'd heard Cas's voice filtering in from the lounge. To say the news of his death had come as a shock would have been a bit of an understatement, particularly when Cas had told him where he'd ended up.

Because really, him? In heaven? After everything he'd done?

To his chagrin Cas had seemed as surprised at the fact as he was but his sarcastic 'gee thanks' had been wasted on the angel whose deadpan reply had simply been 'your welcome'. Cas had then gone on to direct him to follow the road, find Dean and talk to Joshua - the only angel in heaven currently lending an ear to god. Easy as pie.

Ha!

The road - that had been easy enough. Finding Dean however... God, Sam severely wished he hadn't. He really should have known to turn back when he walked through a doorway into Chuck's living room. Failing that he should have bolted upon spotting Dean and Cas, the only two occupants. As it was he was too late to announce himself. Too late to plug his ears, close his eyes and hum his way through it like a three year old ignoring a scolding.

No, in the end he caught his brother making out with Castiel as a full frontal, surround sound experience. And proper making out it was too. When Sam had pictured - despite trying very, very hard not to - his brother and Cas's kiss the night of the Becky fiasco, he'd imagined a pained peck on the lips - probably followed by a lot of swearing and epic embarrassment. Not...not THIS.

This was... Sam watched as Castiel's fingers carded through Dean's hair causing his brother to moan - actually freaking moan... This was watching two people with a very real attraction to each other just discovering the fact. This was Castiel, a freaking VIRGIN for Christ’s sake, kissing his brother with such skill that he was making the damn guy shake. This was watching his brother fall for a freaking DUDE.

Holy mother of FUCK.

He watched incredulously as Castiel bailed Dean up against the invisible barrier, pressing impossibly closer and causing his brother to make another of those god-awful sounds Sam really could have lived his whole life without ever, ever hearing thankyouverymuch.

Despite the horror of the situation though, Sam couldn't seem to look away. It was just too fucking surreal, watching Dean Emotional-Wall-of-China Winchester let go of himself so thoroughly. Sam had seen Dean with women - as much as he wished he hadn't - but his brother had never looked like this. Completely undone and entirely...involved.

Sam had no illusions about his big brother. He knew Dean knew his own emotions about as well as he knew Russian Ballet. And getting him to talk about them? Just...no. To that end Sam had had to become a bit of an expert on the emotional range and cues of Dean Winchester. What he was witnessing here though...this was wholly new.

Sam had to wonder if his brother even knew what he was feeling. Likely not considering what he'd heard of Dean and Cas's parting words after the whole Famine catastrophe.

Sam had been confused as Dean had related the reason for Cas's sudden absence. Or rather the lack of reason. His brother was nothing if not painfully stubborn on uncomfortable matters and so Sam had received a vague ‘he'll come when we call’ and that had been it. Watching this now though and knowing what he did about the Cupid's mark, Sam was putting together a fairly full picture of what had happened. And why.

Dean was a stubborn, stupid fucking moron.

The scene before Sam shifted suddenly as the barrier of the spell dropped, sending Dean and Cas crashing into the back of Chuck’s couch. Dean yelped hilariously and Sam had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing - God knew, he needed to find some part of this situation funny or he was going to go mental. Then he caught sight of the look on Dean's face as Castiel smirked at him and Sam lost it, snorting loudly enough that Dean just about broke his neck whipping around to face him. Sam made a point of plastering his biggest shit-eating grin on as Castiel disappeared with a lingering sound of wings.

"So," he said happily. "This is your heaven."

The look on Dean's face almost made the entire horrific situation worth it.

"My what?!"

* * *

Dean hated heaven. It was a harsh stand to take but there you go.

If having Sam witness one of the most humiliating moments of his life wasn't bad enough, tracking down Joshua and hearing with his own two ears that God didn't give a rats ass was just the icing on the whole fucked cake.

“God saved you already. He put you on that plane. He brought back Castiel. He passed down an order to the Cupids…”

“Yeah, thank him for that by the way,” Dean had growled. “I'm just dancing in my petticoats.”

Joshua had just looked at him, serious and sure for what seemed an age and Dean had suddenly and uncomfortably known where Castiel got the talent from. He hadn’t even been able to ask Joshua why God had seen fit to match him up with an angel. They’d been given the friggin' celestial brushoff. 

But possibly worst of all had been the look on Cas's face when they'd related what Joshua had told them. Cas's heart had split in two, right there in front of him and Dean had been about to reach out despite himself before Cas had suddenly disappeared in a flurry of wings.

They didn't see him for days. And Dean couldn't even bring himself to be disgusted at the worry that gnawed at his insides because of it.

Fucking heaven.


	7. Final Tour

Castiel had sworn he wouldn't drink again. Not after the trouble it had gotten him into the first time. But that was before his father had abandoned him.

Losing faith had a tendency to make one re-think their former oaths.

And so, when he'd received Sam's voicemail he had been completely and unequivocally wasted – or at least that was the term used by the youngest Winchester as he'd taken in Castiel's appearance. Castiel, for his part, couldn't really find it within himself to care. After he'd convinced Sam that the girl they were dealing with wasn't a prophet – mostly by calling him an idiot for doubting him – the two had set down to research.

Or Sam had set down to research. Castiel had discovered Sam's iPod and was busy humming along to one of the lesser played tracks.

AC/DC, the little screen told him. Castiel found he rather liked it.

From the look on Sam's face this was obviously something he found most unusual. Even so, when Sam cleared his throat to speak, Castiel didn't exactly see the subject coming.

“So ah...you and Dean,” Sam began awkwardly.

Castiel blinked up at him from the couch, strings of a glorious song called 'Back in Black' still twanging behind his ears. "Dean and I," he repeated, as Sam seemed to have lost the capacity for words following his halting start.

"I ah..." A broad hand was dragged through mussed hair, "...saw you two in heaven."

Castiel frowned. "I was not in heaven," he pointed out. Was the man hallucinating? Castiel watched as this only seemed to make Sam more awkward.

"Um - yeah, no...I know," Sam hedged.

Castiel, drunk and impatient, decided he didn't want to deal with this. "You are not making any sense. Stop talking if you're not going to make any sense," he ordered, unsurprised when this earned him an eye roll from Sam.

"You were in Dean's heaven," Sam blurted suddenly, and - though Castiel hadn’t thought it possible - he went even redder.

"The road to the garden is where you re-live memories," Castiel said quietly – his mind working at a slightly intoxicated but furious pace. More importantly, the road was where humans re-lived their best memories. Those that had touched them in some way - those that they had enjoyed. Dean enjoyed memories of him?

"Yeah," Sam replied, clearing his throat. "I know."

And it was as Sam refused to meet his eyes that Castiel very suddenly worked out which memory Sam must have witnessed. How...disconcerting...

Castiel watched as Sam squirmed under his scrutiny. "So...do you like him?" Sam asked suddenly.

Castiel frowned. "Of course I like Dean," he answered plainly. He'd rebelled for the man after all; obviously he had some measure of affection for him.

For some reason this answer seemed to pain Sam. This was obviously another one of those instances where humans had assigned subtle connotations to some word, connotations Castiel had a feeling he would never fully understand.

"I mean do you like him..." Castiel watched interestedly as Sam seemed to wince in actual pain,"Romantically."

Castiel frowned harder at the question, suddenly thrown back to his contemplations following his conversation with the Cupid. His feelings for Dean were complicated at best. "I…do not know." 

And he didn’t. He knew he cared for Dean; knew that he needed him…

"Well, did you enjoy kissing him?" Sam asked, voice at once curious and cautious. 

Castiel thought back to the kisses he and Dean had shared. That, at least, was an easy question to answer. "Yes," he stated firmly. "Dean is very responsive."

Sam's face scrunched up in abject horror at his words. "Dude - I did not need to know that!"

Castiel scowled. "Then don’t ask."

Both of them fell into silence for a time until Castiel almost wanted to hit Sam for his squirming. It was obvious the man wanted to say something more but was having a dilemma about opening his mouth.

Finally, the frustrating Winchester cracked. "Okay, I gotta ask," Sam said suddenly, fixing Castiel with a pained look of equal parts dread and curiosity. The next words out of his mouth were not what Castiel expected. "Where the hell did you learn to kiss like that?"

Castiel suddenly found himself matching Sam's awkwardness of a moment before. Even the alcohol still in his system couldn't dull the sensation. "You...will not like it," he responded edgily.

This only seemed to intrigue Sam more. Castiel watched with trepidation as the man leaned forward, the book in front of him forgotten. "What? Why?"

Castiel frowned. "Because you and Dean disapprove of my looking into peoples' minds."

Sam's eyes widened. "You've been spying on people's thoughts?" the hunter asked incredulously. "To get...kissing tips?"

"Not all their thoughts," Castiel retorted defensively, something which he found somewhat annoying. He'd never had an ethical problem reading peoples' minds before Sam and Dean had made such a fuss over it. "Just the ones of Dean and I."

Sam balked visibly."People think about you and Dean?" he asked, shocked. "Like...together?"

Castiel nodded, watching as Sam's face seemed to grow even more haunted. "It is a result of the Cupids' power," he explained, something he'd only really come to realise himself since he'd gained answers from the cherub. "People believe he and I should be together in a sexual sense, and so they imagine it."

Sam looked like someone had just plopped a dead animal on the table in front of him. "That's...so wrong," the youngest Winchester uttered.

"You have no idea," Castiel agreed, his voice low and serious. "Some of the things I've seen...they cannot be unseen."

It was true, too. Waitresses, cashiers, people passing them on the street - everywhere he turned were visions of him and Dean in compromising, heated, sometimes physically impossible positions. Although admittedly he'd found more than one of the fantasies he'd stumbled upon rather intriguing, others...he didn't have words for the horror they'd instilled in him.

Castiel was pulled suddenly out of his inner musings as Sam snorted with mirth. The look he turned on Sam in response only seemed to fuel his humour, and before he knew it, Castiel was watching Sam almost fall off the couch laughing.

"Cas," Sam gasped, eyes watering. "You...you're a giant perve!"

Castiel watched as the man dissolved into hysterics in front of him once more.

Well. Really. And he was the drunk one.

* * *

By the time Dean finally showed up at the motel, hands covered in blood, Castiel's alcoholic buzz was already sliding into the horrific realm of hangover. He had been sitting out the front of the motel, throbbing head in his hands when Dean had approached him, bottle of magic pills on offer.

"How many should I take?" Castiel asked forlornly as Dean sat down next to him, handing the pills over.

"You?" Dean snorted. "Just down the whole bottle."

Castiel nodded before returning his head to his hands. If he didn't look at anything the pain was marginally less. The sudden touch on the back of his neck made him freeze up for a moment before the sensation really sunk in. When it did, he found the feel of fingers rubbing tight circles into the muscles of his neck made him almost boneless.

"That is...very good," he murmured, tension easing out of him as Dean worked some kind of hedonistic magic with his fingers.

"It's called a neck rub," Dean informed him, slight amusement evident in his tone. "Best thing for a hangover."

Castiel thought he could probably stand to be hungover more often if this is what resulted. And it wasn't just the pain relief he was appreciating either. He wasn't certain when he'd started to enjoy Dean's touch so much; he only knew that now - with the feel of Dean's heat beside him and the blissful pressure on his skin - something warm and almost tangible had bloomed somewhere behind his ribcage.

Unbidden, Sam's words of an hour ago returned to his mind. 

Dean's heaven. Their kiss had been a part of Dean's heaven. And with the explanation from the Cupid...

Did Dean...what was it Sam had asked? Ah yes - did Dean _like_ him?

"I get it, you know," Dean said beside him. “I’m a big expert on deadbeat dads, so. Yeah. I know how you feel."

Very suddenly the reason he was in this situation crashed back down onto Castiel's shoulders and he sagged. "How do you manage it?" he asked, bringing his eyes up to meet Dean's.

The gaze he found directed back on him was one of wry understanding. "On a good day, you get to kill a whore."

* * *

Castiel had meant to tell Dean then about the Cupid's words. With Dean's touch on the back of his neck and their gazes locked, it would have been an ideal time. Except Sam and the priest had chosen that moment to join them out the front.

The rest of the night was a blur. Their failed first attempt at the killing, the agony as the Whore had aimed a dark Enochian spell straight for his grace and then Dean... Dean overcoming the scripture and killing the Whore with his own two hands. Or rather, not overcoming the scripture - adhering to it.

The pain kept Castiel from realising it sooner, realising what the Whore's death meant. The horror of realisation only hit him the moment Dean turned to look at him, eyes heavy as he'd headed for the door of the motel.

"Relax, I'm just getting more bandages," he'd assured Sam. The look in his eyes betrayed something completely different.

"No..." Castiel had gasped but by the time he'd managed to grab Sam's attention the engine of the Impala was already rumbling.

And they'd lost him. Castiel had lost Dean.

* * *

Dean had thought about visiting Lisa. Hell, he’d even thought about visiting Cassie. But in the end he didn’t. It wouldn’t have made a difference either way. He’d make sure they were taken care of - there was no way he wouldn’t, but any words he could think to say just didn’t seem right anymore.

He could imagine telling Lisa that when he thought of himself happy it was with her. That if his life had been different he would have loved to have had her and Ben. And it was true…or rather, it had been. If he’d wanted normal he would have wanted that but he didn’t want normal anymore. Which was why this situation was so irreversibly fucked.

God had taken his dreams from him. Why not give Michael the reality?

And so he’d retreated to Lawrence, Kansas. Because things may as well finish where they’d damn well started.

In retrospect, visiting the one town that housed a psychic who was well-tuned into Channel Winchester probably wasn’t the smartest of moves. That Missouri had picked Cas’s phone number out of her psychic hat though? That was something even Dean couldn’t have seen coming.

* * *

Dean was packing up his razor, half bottle of Jack in hand when a quick glance in the bathroom mirror revealed Cas’s glowering countenance behind him. He couldn't say he was surprised really. He'd known there'd been a slight chance of someone tracking him down before he could do what he had to do. Fate was a bitch like that. That it was Cas though... God Dean wished it hadn't been Cas.

Sighing, Dean looked down again, taking his sweet time packing away his toothbrush. “Fuck off, Cas.”

“No,” the angel said behind him, voice hard as granite and Dean rolled his eyes more at himself than the tone.

“You can't stop me from doing this,” Dean said, finally turning to face the angel. The moment he did he wished he hadn't.

Dean hadn’t let himself think about Cas - about what the angel’s reaction would be to what he planned on doing. He had known Sammy would be disappointed. Had known Bobby would likely want to tear him a new one. Cas though - he hadn’t let himself think about what he’d be doing to him. Not least because giving in to Michael was probably more of a betrayal of Castiel than anyone else.

So he’d done what he did with every other damn uncomfortable thing - he’d ignored it. And now he knew why - because in all his fucked up imaginings there was no way Dean could have done justice to the unabashed mix of agony and fury he was seeing in Cas now.

“I gave everything for you,” Cas growled, voice vibrating with anger – more furious than Dean had ever heard him before. More on edge. Well, Dean was nothing if not good at pushing. 

He barked a sharp stab of laughter, a masochistic part of him almost relishing it when Cas's eyes narrowed on him. “That was your second mistake,” he replied, voice taking on the pained jeering quality that never failed to make Sam clench his jaw. “The first was pulling me out of the pit in the first place.”

“I had-”

“Yeah, you had orders,” Dean spat, the anger rising in him like poison. “And you're a good little soldier, aren't you, Cas?”

From the flare in Cas's eyes Dean knew Cas was remembering the last time Dean had said those words.

“It should have been Michael,” Dean snarled, not knowing where the words were coming from and not caring. He was flying on instinct and everything in him was pushing the venom into his voice. “He should have been the one to pull me out. The guy's a dick but at least he's got his priorities straight.”

Dean watched the words hit Cas, punching holes in him the way bullets never had. And a part of him withered with it but another... God, another almost welcomed it. It was then that Dean realised what he was doing. He could say he'd never wanted to hurt Cas but he'd be lying – Dean wanted it to hurt; wanted to see the pain and betrayal flash through Cas's eyes. Because pain led to hate. And Cas hating him would make what he had to do that much easier.

Cas didn't see the gun, that much was obvious. Dean had it in hand and pressed to his temple before the angel could even blink. It was a stupid and desperate move maybe but Dean was in that sort of zone. And if Zachariah couldn't find him on the other side he didn't damn well deserve to catch him.

“And now I do too,” he rasped, harsh and bitter, and he squeezed.

And god but he had fully fucking underestimated Cas's speed.

Everything seemed to happen at once. One moment the trigger was giving beneath his finger and the next his vision was full of tan trench-coat, his wrist on fire as the gun was twisted from his hand. And he fought back, more out of instinct than anything else, until a blow like a sledgehammer caught him across the jaw.

Dean would have fallen then, under just one punch, except Cas moved too fast, lifting him practically off his feet as he slammed Dean bodily into the glass above the bathroom counter.

“I rebelled for this?” Cas hissed in his face, practically nose to nose with Dean, eyes electric and livid. “So you could surrender like a coward?”

Something broke inside Dean at the words. The world had condensed down to pain and fire and blue – so much blue and everything was collapsing in on him. He closed his eyes, cringing away from Cas and everything else he was trying to just fucking run from.

“I fought for you! I died for you!” Cas growled against him, pressing him harder into the broken glass at his back. And a part of Dean welcomed it; welcomed the pain. It was real. It was real like nothing else in this whole situation was.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said brokenly, feeling Cas’s grip on him shudder at the words. He hadn’t really meant to say it but once it was out Dean knew it was true, true like nothing else he’d been saying. Dean opened his eyes, meeting Cas’s impossibly blue ones and forcing himself to take it in; forcing himself to feel it.

“I’m sorry,” he choked again, his grip on Cas’s wrists faltering, sliding from coat to bare skin. It was an innocuous movement - something that should have been inconsequential, and yet the moment skin touched skin, the charged energy in the bathroom switched frequencies. Dean’s breath caught as Cas’s eyes darkened.

Dean would never know who moved first - only that one moment they had been held frozen, glaring and immovable, and the next moment Cas’s mouth was on his, hard and demanding as the angel pressed himself everywhere Dean could never admit to needing him.

It was their first kiss not forced by outside events. It was also the first kiss that Dean didn’t think. He didn’t let himself. Because if this was to be his last kiss before the end of the world, he was not going to let goddamn destiny or a few clinging snags of heterosexuality keep him from enjoying it.

Dean had already been half sitting on the bathroom counter following Cas’s slamming him bodily into it and he didn’t argue when Cas leveraged him all the way up. Not even the thought that this was something he could totally see himself doing to a girl could stop the shudder as Cas took advantage of the new position to push between Dean's legs. The kiss never broke and Dean felt his head swimming at the hot familiarity of the sensation.

Cas kissed like he was a drowning man and Dean was oxygen - all desperation and passion. Now that he was being recklessly honest with himself, it was something that Dean could admit had never failed to twist his insides into tightly coiled knots. But it was nothing compared to the sensation of Cas coming undone, small sounds escaping the angel when Dean hit the right sort of rhythm or touch.

The unadulterated gasp he ripped from Cas when he wrapped one leg around the angel’s hip and ground their lower bodies together almost sent Dean over the edge right there.

“Dean…I need - _ohfuck_ …”

It was the first time Dean had ever heard Cas swear, and while a small part of him found the action extremely hilarious, everything else in him was taken over by just how hot Castiel sounded when he was flying apart. 

Riding an instinctual high Dean trailed a line of open-mouthed kisses down the angel’s neck before biting down, rolling their bodies together once more as Cas bucked against him - his unbridled moan making Dean’s heart skip a beat.

“Dean, we can’t…” Cas gasped, voice harsh as the hands even now leaving bruises on Dean’s hips; hands pulling him closer.

“Yes we can,” Dean ground out, surprised at the pain that saturated his voice. “It doesn’t matter. None of it matters…”

And God he hadn’t meant to say it like that. Not so hopeless and horrifying. He held tighter as he felt Cas freeze in his arms.

“Please don’t,” he heard himself plead helplessly. “Don’t stop.”

But the moment was already slipping away. Taking with it the bliss of forgetting - forgetting what he had to do; forgetting why he had to do it; forgetting that even this - these moments weren’t real…

“Please,” he begged softly, his hands tangled in Cas’s clothing as he pressed his face into the angel’s neck. The feel of fingers carding through his hair was an unexpected but wholly pleasant one.

“I’m sorry,” Cas whispered, his voice soft and heavy beside his ear. “I should have told you sooner.”

Dean barely had time to frown before the touch on his neck dragged him down into darkness.

When he awoke it was to find himself tied to a metal pipe in a dry, neatly kept basement.

“What the hell?” Dean sputtered, only to freeze as the shadows before him shifted. The figure that was revealed was the last one Dean expected.

“So,” the Cupid began sheepishly. “We need to talk.”


	8. Plan B

Castiel was a coward. It was a new title for him – one he never thought he would have found himself applying but it was there now. Right next to foolish and doomed.

He should have told Dean. Should have told him as soon as Castiel himself first knew. When he'd felt Dean break against him, voice cracked and hopeless, Castiel had known he'd made a hellish mistake. He could say he hadn't had the opportunity, could say they hadn't had the time but Castiel knew the words for what they were – excuses, and pitiful ones at that. He'd been so wrapped up in his own depression over his Father's abandonment he had lost sight of what was happening to those around him.

It was an almost… human failing.

That the Cupid’s words had been eating at Dean was now apparent and Castiel cursed himself for being so blind to it. And he cursed himself again for foisting the responsibility of telling Dean onto the Cupid.

There was a certain logic to it. Castiel knew instinctively that Dean would accept the Cupid's words more readily than his own – particularly after their last encounter. He also knew that Dean was going to need time to come to grips with what it all meant, just as he had. Castiel not being present would be easier for that. Knowing all of this, however, didn't stop the knot of discomfort from tightening in his chest.

Sam and Bobby had looked at him like he'd grown a second head when he'd returned empty handed. He couldn't really blame them, given the nature of his hasty retreat. One phone call from a psychic he'd never met and he'd taken flight, his anger and fear lending him speed. He knew now that he shouldn't have been so rash – should have taken a moment to calm himself before confronting Dean. But the price of emotions was apparently irrationality. The punch he'd thrown had surprised even him, the heat of the moment lending his rage the strength to make him act without thought.

But...as bad as he felt about it now, at the time it had felt so viscerally good. Dean had hurt him, perhaps more than even he realised, and so Castiel had hurt him back. It was a painfully human impulse, a purely emotional reaction, one that Castiel never would have understood six months ago but now found himself wading knee-deep in.

The kiss...the kiss had been something altogether new. Their first kiss free of outside influence – Castiel found himself remembering it with a mixture of pleasure and pain. And something else that coiled hot and real in his stomach.

Dean had kissed like a man possessed; all darkness and need. He'd needed to forget – needed to touch and moan and burn the thoughts from his head. And Castiel had needed it just as much. Needed to feel Dean; needed to know that he hadn't lost him – not yet.

And then Dean's words had burned a hole straight through him.

_“None of it matters anyway...”_

Nothing had ever hit Castiel with such guilt and despair. And it was all of his doing. He could only hope that things weren't beyond repair - that the Cupid's words would somehow make it through to Dean.

Castiel needed them to.

* * *

Dean was having possibly the most surreal experience of his life. And that included being forced to make out with an angel on a fake gay TV drama.

The Cupid had finished explaining things to him - something he still hadn't quite worked his head around yet - before untying him and leading him up the basement stairs. To say he had been surprised to find himself in Missouri Mosley's kitchen would've been a slight understatement. It was then that Dean had realised how Cas must have found him in the first place.

The brash old woman had taken one look at him, fixing him with that piercing glare of hers and harrumphed. "I'd slap you, but it looks like that angel o’ yours did a good enough job for the both of us," she'd remarked. Five minutes later Dean found himself sitting obediently in her kitchen chair, giant slab of raw steak slapped on the side of his face covering what was likely to be a truly epic bruise if the insistent aching was anything to go by.

One day he was going to learn not to piss off angels, really.

Missouri meanwhile was entertaining the Cupid over a cup of tea - the two of them obviously giving him some space to sort out his own head. This might not have been all that weird, except the Cupid was as naked as the second time he'd popped into Dean's life - something which didn't seem to stop the cherub and the psychic from nattering on like a pair of old ladies at the hairdressers.

Dean had almost forgotten how unusual Missouri really was. He was surprised to realise how much he'd missed her.

But, as bizarre as the scene was, and as much as he really wanted to pinch himself just to wake up, it was nothing to the bomb-shell the Cupid had dropped on him. Honestly, Dean didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

On the one hand, Dean's emotions were his own. God hadn't destiny-fucked him as bad as he'd first thought, which was an almost painful relief. He hadn't lost control. He hadn't lost himself.

But on the other hand... His goddamned emotions were his own. Every last fucked up, terrifying one of them. Every one that made him unconsciously seek out Cas's heat, every one that had his eyes ticking to Cas's fucking lips whenever he got within a three foot radius...

He was so completely screwed.

"If you're done workin’ yourself into a good panic, I have a leaky faucet that needs looking at," Missouri's voice suddenly cut into his thoughts, dragging Dean out of...yeah okay - out of his panic.

Dean blinked up at the woman - the very alone woman, two empty tea mugs beside her on the bench. Dean frowned. "Where's the Cupid?" he asked in confusion.

"He had work," Missouri said simply, shifting the cups into the sink behind her with a domestic efficiency that Dean found friggin' surreal, given his current circumstances.

"But-" Dean began, only to be cut off as Missouri snorted and turned her back to him.

"But you thought he was supposed to baby-sit you," she suggested, her tone indicating just how little she thought of that particular assumption. "Keep you from offering yourself up to an archangel, hmm?"

Dean just stared, dumbstruck. "Um...yeah?"

Missouri harrumphed again - something she was extremely good at. Practice, obviously.

"You're as dense as ever, honey," she said simply. "You're free to do what you like."

Dean very nearly snorted himself at that one. "But Cas-"

"Castiel knows you far better than anyone realises, includin’ you," Missouri interrupted, her words making Dean's mouth go uncomfortably dry. "He's giving you this choice," she explained, fixing him with a particularly penetrating stare. "You can go on with your little act of self-destruction, or you can suck it up and be the man your angel thinks you're capable of being."

For a full minute Dean found himself at a loss for words, not least because he really wished she'd stop referring to Cas as his.

"For an angel without faith, he seems to have an awful lot in you, boy," Missouri commented, her voice more gentle than before. It was gone as suddenly as it came, though, replaced with her customary brashness. "Now if you're all done, this faucet's not gonna fix itself."

* * *

Sam had no idea what was going on, which was slowly driving him up the wall. When Dean had disappeared following the Whore of Babylon fiasco, he'd practically torn his hair out trying to figure out where his idiot of a brother was likely to take himself.

Six months ago he would have had no problems predicting it - Lisa, possibly Cassie... but everything that had happened with Cas had obviously thrown a wrench into Dean's farewell tour schedule. He hadn't known where to look. And then Cas had gotten a phone call that had made Sam take a step back from the utter fury on his face a moment before the angel had disappeared in a flurry or feathers.

Sam still had no idea who had been on the other end of the phone, or where Cas had actually disappeared to. Only that he'd returned, without Dean but reassuring them that the situation was on hold...’for the moment’. For the fucking moment - what the HELL was that supposed to mean? But despite his yelling and raging he'd been unable to pry answers from the terse angel.

And then Cas had been struck with a celestial migraine and had disappeared again, leaving them only with a tense 'something's happening' that made Sam severely worry for the state of his teeth because really, all the clenching and grinding he was doing lately could not be healthy. Of course, not one minute later, Dean chose to show back up – casually swaggering through the door like he'd just popped down to the bar for a drink. Of course the big motherfucking bruise leeching up half his face didn't exactly lay credence to the nonchalance.

"Where the - what the - " Sam struggled for a moment, his brain fighting for which question to yell first.

"Nice to see you too, Sammy," Dean quipped, making Sam wish that damn bruise didn't look so freaking harsh, because he really wanted to take a swing himself.

"What happened to your face?" Sam asked, latching onto the point of immediate focus.

He watched as Dean reached one hand up to the ugly bruise, wincing slightly as he touched it. "Yeah - do yourself a favour, Sammy," Dean answered wryly. "Don't piss off the nerd angels."

Sam's eyes widened. "Cas did that to you?"

Dean nodded, which was about the point Bobby decided to announce his presence. For a man in a cumbersome metal wheelchair the guy could frigging sneak.

"Good," the old man growled, and even Sam felt like taking a step back from the anger bubbling in his voice. "Saves me the trouble."

Dean at least had the decency to look ashamed. "Bobby, I -"

"Don't you ‘Bobby’ me, boy," Bobby growled, looking for all the world like a bear in a trucker hat. "I know damn well what you're thinking about doing and it's gonna be over my cold dead carcass."

"I know I -" Dean hesitated, seeming to gather his thoughts together. Which, frankly, shocked the hell out of Sam. Dean thinking about the words that came out of his mouth, before they came out of his mouth? It was a borderline holy experience it happened so rarely.

"Look," his brother began, his tone sincere. "I won't lie. I was in a bad place - and yeah, I was going to say yes."

Sam opened his mouth then to cut in, but one look from Dean stopped him short. There was something way too raw in that look.

"But... I had a few things... explained to me," his brother continued haltingly. "Long story short - I'm hanging on. At least a little longer."

Bobby looked about ready to pop a vein at the 'at least a little longer' comment. To be perfectly honest, Sam could sympathise. Nonetheless, he stepped in before Bobby could open his mouth to retort.

"What changed your mind?" Sam asked, only to see his brother - Dean Winchester, manliest man of all the men, freaking BLUSH.

Castiel's sudden appearance a moment later was really just the icing on the cake. The unconscious body in his grasp... not so much.

"Help," Castiel called loudly, lugging the mud-covered figure over to Bobby's couch.

For a few moments all was chaos as the brothers plus Bobby rushed into the lounge room, but even so, Sam would have had to have been blind to miss the look that passed between Cas and Dean. For a full-blown second Cas actually froze completely solid upon catching sight of Dean, too many mixed emotions to read flicking through his eyes, before his attention was diverted back to the gang’s newest acquisition.

Sam followed suit, mentally shelving that look for future consideration because, frankly, anything that made Castiel look like he'd just had the wind kicked out of him was worth a second thought. Then he recognised the figure on the couch and everything flew out of his head.

"Holy shit!" he exclaimed, rather succinctly he thought. Dean swore right along with him.

"What?" Bobby asked. "Who is it?"

"That's our brother."

* * *

Adam was not impressed, that much was painfully obvious to Dean and the others. It was also painfully obvious that he'd inherited the Winchester bite when cornered. Dean pretty quickly left the handling of him to Sam when it became apparent just how volatile two personalities as similar as his and Adam’s in the same room was going to be. He only felt mildly guilty about it, too – served Sam right for being the patient brother.

He hadn't counted on Cas following him as he slipped out the back door to get some air. Just like he hadn't counted on his heart beat going into double time when he realised the damn angel was there.

“Come to make sure I'm not gonna run off again?” Dean asked sarcastically. The bite was weak and he knew it.

“If I wanted to keep you immobile, I would have handcuffed you in the basement,” Cas replied seriously, coming to lean up against the Impala beside him. 

Dean almost choked. “Cas, you kinky bastard,” he shot back, because hell, the situation was already tense enough – he may as well throw some fuel on the fire. The look the damn angel turned on him didn't exactly help – something sparking slightly at the edges of the blue.

Dean cleared his throat, wishing suddenly for a bottle of something. Man, he was turning into a certified alcoholic at this rate.

“Did the Cupid explain things sufficiently?” Cas asked, effectively turning a great big friggin' spotlight on the elephant in the room.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah,” he answered gruffly. “I think I've got the story straight. Woulda been nice to know a little earlier.”

To his complete surprise, Cas dropped his gaze to the ground at that, looking almost...contrite. It was something to behold. “The fault was mine – I should not have allowed things to distract me...”

For some reason, right then, the thought of Cas apologising to him did nothing but freak Dean out. As much as he'd thought he wanted this – now – the reality of the angel hanging his head and looking so... so freakin’ woeful just hit Dean like a chain of barbed wire. “Hey – no – you had your own shit,” he insisted. “I just...” He sighed, wondering when his life had become a never-ending parade of chick-flick moments. “I got a little lost.”

“You thought Heaven had taken your choice from you,” Cas said quietly, causing something deep inside Dean to clench. Yeah – that's exactly what he'd thought.

Cas turned his eyes to Dean’s, fixing him with that blue stare. “I will always leave you a choice.” He said it low and serious, honest and bare. Like a vow.

Dean found himself slightly bowled over by the feeling those words inspired. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he grinned. “You'll just take a swing when you think I'm heading off script,” he said wryly, his face twinging in reminder. A moment later it was twinging for an altogether different reason as Cas's hand covered the bruise.

For the life of him Dean didn't know why he didn't pull away. He should have - after everything that had happened; after the punch and having his head turned inside out with the Cupid’s explanation. He should have pulled away. The sigh that escaped his lips as the healing warmth spread through his face was something he was never going to live down. Cas wasn't nearly powerful enough to undo all the damage he knew, not cut off from heaven as he was but the slight relief was almost...perfect.

“I should not have hurt you,” Cas murmured, his voice soft and very, very close.

Dean wondered idly when he'd closed his eyes but couldn't find it in himself to open them again. Somehow the darkness made the feel of this easier to bear. Like if he didn't face what he could feel happening he could almost enjoy it. He chuckled lightly. "I deserved it," he admitted, voice softer than he meant it to be.

"Yes, you did," Cas agreed as the warmth dissipated and he dropped his hand. It was enough to break the spell as Dean laughed - opening his eyes to find Cas looking at him with a complete and terrifying lack of stoicism, one corner of his usually serious mouth pulling upward.

It was a good moment. Amongst all the chaos, a good moment. It made Dean hope that they might just come out the other end a little bit better off than they'd started.

Hell, if Cas was getting a sense of humour, ANYTHING was possible.

* * *

Things went horribly wrong when the angels came for Adam. Castiel might have known the peace wouldn't last.

They hit Castiel first, with a spell painfully similar to the one used on him mere days before by the Whore - an experience he'd never wanted to repeat again, let alone before he was fully recovered. He'd been in the kitchen at the time, watching the elder Winchester brothers arguing about nothing as they shared the task of making sandwiches for themselves, Adam and Bobby. It was one of the things he found he liked about Dean and Sam - even when fighting, the love the brothers held for each other shined through, to the point where inane bickering was almost their way of showing it.

The blow to his grace was unexpected and agonising. Castiel couldn't have stopped his pained shout if his life had depended on it, which was probably lucky since Dean caught him just before he went face first into the table.

"Cas!"

"Get...Adam..." Castiel had managed to grunt, the pain making his vision darken slightly at the edges. Sam was the first to move, hitting the door to the lounge room with just two strides of his impossibly long legs. Dean didn't move, his presence warm and solid behind him and Castiel couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed at Dean not following his directive because the arms around him were far too welcome.

Castiel didn't protest when Dean lowered them both to sitting on the floor - his legs already threatening to do the job for him in a moment anyway. A second later Sam burst in, face telling what Castiel already knew.

"He's gone," Sam said, voice stricken. "Adam's gone."

* * *

The plan sucked. Badly. Dean was so far from a fan of the plan he was beneath it.

"No, nuh-uh - there has to be another way," he insisted forcefully, scowling down at the exacto-knife in Cas's hand like it had committed a personal atrocity.

"There isn't," Cas retorted for the third time, his voice hinting at exasperation. "There are five angels in there. You won't get past them if I don't do this."

“And what happens if you're wrong?” Dean demanded. “What happens if it kills you?”

“Then I will have at least given you a chance,” Cas replied tersely. He was glaring at Dean, that much Dean could tell but there was also something soft behind his eyes.

“Fuck this,” Dean snapped. “You're not sacrificing yourself for me.”

“I've done it before,” Cas reminded him, and Dean wanted to strangle the damn bastard. The last thing he wanted to think about at this moment was the last time Cas had gone up against his brothers and ended up a tooth in Chuck's hair.

Dean would think later how surreal it was that Cas never even denied that he'd done it all, not for the world, not for the greater good – but for him.

“Hate to interrupt, but we're kinda running on a tight schedule here, guys,” Sam suddenly said beside them. Dean shot a short but fierce glare at his brother, who shrugged apologetically.

“I'm doing this,” Cas said firmly, voice riding the waves of oath and making Dean swear again.

It should have terrified Dean, what the thought of losing Cas was doing to his head; to his self control. His hands were shaking, for God's sake – something so rare it made his throat close up. The last time his hands had shaken like this, Sammy had just taken a knife to the back.

Fuck it.

“Give me the knife,” he ordered, and something in his voice must have spoken of his intent because Cas only hesitated a moment before handing it over, a slight frown on his face. Dean looked at Sam who had a matching frown of confusion.

“Turn around, Sam,” Dean said plainly and watched as his brother blinked in confusion.

“What? Why...”

And then it was his brother's turn to see the intent on Dean's face. He'd heard Sam call it his 'fucking GUESS' face – the face Dean made when whatever he was about to do was either going to make Sammy extremely pissed or extremely uncomfortable or both. And Dean wasn't exactly looking to piss him off at this point. He watched the moment Sam got it – his little brother's mouth opening in a small 'o' before he hastily turned his back on the two of them.

Dean thought Sam shoving his fingers in his ears might have been a bit much.

Rolling his eyes, Dean turned back to Cas to find the angel plainly at a loss at watching the brothers' interactions. To be fair, Dean was a bit on the confused side himself. But hell, Cas was about to possibly kill himself, and he and Sam would likely be right behind him once Zachariah got a hold of them, so what the hell. He was riding the coat-tails of instinct, baby.

Dean reached up and tugged on the lapels of Cas's ridiculous jacket, shuffling the angel close enough that he could get to the buttons on his shirt. He didn't look up as he went to work on them, instead studying his hands closely as he slid from one button to the next – fingers occasionally brushing skin as the shirt opened.

“You are going to do this and then you're going to come back,” he ordered quietly. “You are going to go in there, banish those mother fuckers and then you are going to find your way back to me so I can kick your ass. Are we clear?” He undid the last button and then, without waiting for Cas to reply, he yanked the angel forward into him.

Dean was good at inflicting pain. His years in hell had taught him very, very well. But torture was a two way street. When you knew how to make something hurt more, you also got a good feel for making it hurt less. The ragged breath that Cas sucked in when Dean pressed against him, ghosting his breath deliberately across the angel’s neck as he leaned in, was exactly what Dean had aimed for. Pleasure had a way of dulling even the most acute agony.

“Close your eyes,” Dean muttered, an echo of Cas's words to him not so long ago. From the way Cas shivered slightly he knew he’d made the connection as well. And then, before he could think too much on the action, Dean leaned forward and sunk his teeth into the stretch of Cas’s skin where neck met shoulder.

The effect was instantaneous.

Cas’s breath staggered suddenly, a low keening sound breaking from the back of his throat as he shuddered against Dean. Dean would have smirked if the situation had been any other. Because really, Castiel - fucking angel of the Lord - had a biting kink.

The sound he made a moment later when Dean brought the knife to bear was very different - sharp and involuntary. But not nearly as harsh as it could have been.

Dean made sure of it.


	9. The Human Condition

It had been two weeks. Two weeks in which they'd gone head to head with gods and goddesses. Two weeks that had seen Gabriel perish at his own brother's hand. Two weeks in which they’d formed a tentative alliance with a demon and two weeks in which Dean hadn't stopped freaking out every damn time his phone rang. Because Cas would call him. Because Cas wasn’t dead. He fucking wasn’t.

It became worse as time went on. The looks Sam and Bobby exchanged whenever Dean's phone would ring turned from hopeful to resigned and then – and Dean wanted to hit them for it – to pity. They didn't believe Cas had survived; it was written all over their faces. Dean refused to even admit that possibility.

And so, when his phone rang just as they were getting set to ship out and confront Pestilence, Dean's throat closed up just like it always did in the moments it took for him to hear the voice of whoever was at the other end. The complete and utter relief when he heard Cas – God, it almost had him keeling over.

“Cas!” he exclaimed, drawing round eyes from Sam and Bobby in the room with him. Something he was going to have to remind himself to kick them for later. “Thank god! Where are you?”

“A hospital,” Cas answered, voice weary in a way that had Dean frowning so hard the lines were probably going to be permanent.

“Are you okay?” he asked, voice lowering in worry.

“No.”

Dean stopped short of ACTUALLY tearing his hair out at that. Barely. “You wanna elaborate?”

“I just woke up here,” Cas explained - the hustle of a hospital blanketing the background of his voice. “The doctors were fairly surprised; they thought I was brain-dead.”

“What the hell happened?”

“Apparently after Van Nuys, I suddenly appeared bloody and unconscious on a shrimping boat off of Delacroy,” Cas continued. “I’ve been told it upset the sailors.”

Of course Cas would be worrying about the damn sailors. Dean let out a great whoosh of air, almost drowning in his relief. Because for all the damn angel sounded like he’d gone ten rounds with a semi truck, Cas was there. Cas was alive. 

“Well, I gotta tell you man, you’re just in time,” Dean said with a heady huff of laughter. “We figured out a way to pop Satan’s box…”

This seemed to grab Cas attention. “How-” the angel asked before a groan cut him off mid-sentence. Something which had Dean frowning all over again.

“It’s a long story but - look, we’re going after Pestilence now - so if you wanna zap on over here…”

“I can’t zap anywhere,” Cas informed him flatly, and something in his voice made Dean clutch the phone a little tighter.

“What d’you mean?” Dean asked, already dreading the answer.

“I’d say my batteries are - are drained,” Cas explained.

“What - you’re out of angel mojo?” Dean asked incredulously, causing Sam to raise his eyebrows as he listened to the one-sided conversation.

“I’m saying that I am thirsty and my head aches,” Cas sighed. “I have a bug bite that itches no matter how much I scratch it. I’m saying that I’m just incredibly…”

Oh Jesus Christ…

“Human,” Dean finished for him, the bottom dropping out of his stomach.

Castiel sighed on the other end of the phone and just the sound of it; the weariness and defeat had Dean's face hardening. “We're coming to get you,” he told Cas resolutely, seeing Sam shift out of the corner of his eye. And God but if his brother tried to argue that the end of the world was their priority he really was going to hit him. Surprisingly, Cas beat him to it.

“No, Dean,” Cas said, his voice far more tired than Dean thought it had any right to be. Jesus, he'd never heard Cas sound so...mortal. “This might be your only chance to get to Pestilence.”

“I don't care,” Dean growled, the vehemence in his tone surprising even him. He couldn't help it though. He just...he needed to see that Cas was okay - with his own two eyes.

“I will be fine,” Cas said, a hint of something soft creeping into his tone. “I will simply need money for an...an airplane ride. And food. And more pain medication, ideally.”

For a full second Dean didn't know whether to be more upset over the thought of Cas hurtling through the air in a very human-made, very fallible metal tube with wings or the fact he seemed to be finding a love of narcotics early onto his stint as normal folk.

“Okay,” Dean acquiesced, more to himself than anyone else. “Okay – Bobby'll transfer you the money,” he said, ignoring Bobby's huff and rolled eyes. “Just...” For a moment Dean panicked as his throat seemed ready to close on him. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose – acutely aware that Sam was scrutinising him like a BITCH. “Just be careful.”

“I will,” Cas replied, tone reassuring in a way that made Dean blow out a breath despite himself. “You as well. Pestilence is very powerful.”

And as they signed off Dean couldn't have kept the damn stupid grin off his face if he tried. Cas was hurt and possibly human, but fuck it, he was alive. At least something of this nightmare had been salvaged.

* * *

Tracking Pestilence hadn’t been hard and Dean had been running on the high of good news as he and Sam had stalked the halls – heading for the room they'd spied on the security feed. Then of course Dean's insides had revolted against him and turned to mush.

Yep – Pestilence was a bitch. Cas's appearance was about the holiest occurrence Dean could have asked for in that moment. Right up until the angel keeled over coughing blood.

“That’s fascinating,” Pestilence had remarked, bending over Cas. “There’s not a speck of angel left in you, is there?”

Dean had seen Cas's eyes then, pained but suddenly hard with something else. Determination. A very human determination. Dean could have cheered when the angel reared up, snatching the knife from the floor in front of him.

“Maybe just a speck,” he'd snarled as he cut the ring off the bastard horseman's finger.

Then the demon bitch sidekick had bought it and Pestilence had made a grand threat but Dean didn't hear it – instead zeroing in on Cas. Cas right in front of him, alive and warm and RIGHT in GOD DAMN front of him. The angel's 'oof' as Dean pulled him into a hug was mildly comical but Dean couldn't bring himself to laugh. The relief was running too quick and hot in his veins. He barely noticed the surprised pause before Cas returned the embrace - hands clutching at him with a desperation that belied his calm outward appearance.

And just for a moment everything was okay. When Sam cleared his throat pointedly a second later, Dean had half a mind to shoot him in the face. He settled instead for a glare as Cas pulled away from him.

The trip back to Bobby's was...tense. Sam, citing syphilis-induced exhaustion, had claimed the back seat to lay down and so Cas was up front with Dean. Probably a good thing, since Dean couldn't seem to keep his eyes off him. Hasty looks every few seconds were giving him a crick in the neck but Dean couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried - it was like his brain was still trying to reassure itself that the damn angel was really there.

Cas, for his part, spent the trip gazing out the passenger side window, brow furrowed in what might have been pain. Whatever it was, it was slowly eating at Dean and would probably continue until he could get the angel somewhere safe so they could assess his wounds.

Castiel, wounded. It was something vaguely mind-blowing in Dean's opinion, and definitely not in a good way. God, what had he done?

After they'd arrived and filled Bobby in on the happenings, the old hunter had been the one to turn his gaze to Cas and raise his brows. "Have a shower, son," he'd directed, startling Dean with the normality of the order. "It'll do you good."

The look on Cas's face at the directive had been entirely hilarious. Like Bobby had just suggested a light frolic through hell. Sam, obviously noting the expression as well, had laughed lightly. "C'mon - we'll find you a towel," he’d offered helpfully, which totally hadn’t made Dean narrow his eyes at his little brother as Sam led the angel towards the stairs, thank you very much.

"Dean, find Cas a change of clothes," Sam had instructed, turning back with a far too knowing look. Dean had hastily scrubbed his expression and promptly wondered when he'd turned into a friggin’ CRAZY person.

* * *

Dean’s quest to clothe Cas was proving a bitch, not least because his mind seemed to freeze when it contemplated the angel in anything other than that damn suit and trench-coat he'd lived in since Dean had first met him. After a ridiculous amount of time, Dean finally settled on an old pair of sweatpants and an AC/DC t-shirt he hadn't worn in years that had always been a little too small on him. Cas was smaller than him, though - at least he'd felt smaller the few times they'd...uh...yeah...that...so Dean figured it'd fit. Grumbling a little and carefully ignoring any sort of amused look from Sam on his way past, he headed for the stairs.

Bobby's house was a freaking maze and had been for as long as Dean had known the man. Even before his accident, the old hunter had rarely ventured upstairs. Instinctively Dean knew it had everything to do with Bobby's family - the wife and children he'd lost. Bobby had pushed all his pain into the upper part of the house and left it gathering dust, moving his life into the small bedroom off the kitchen and equally small en-suite off of that.

Whenever they stayed there, he and Sam refused the offer of a bed on the upper level more out of respect than because it was warmer on the first floor - as they’d told Bobby. And Dean knew Bobby knew it too - it was just one of those things that was never said out loud.

The bathroom, though, was another matter. Unwilling to crowd through Bobby's room, the Winchesters took over the upstairs bathroom whenever they stayed. It was there that Dean now trudged, seeking an angel that had never had a shower in his life.

It was only as he thought about it that Dean was mildly glad that Sam had been the one to show Cas how the damn thing worked. The state he was in at the moment, Dean didn't know what might happen if he found himself alone with the damn angel. Which of course terrified him when he realised it. Just when had he become so friggin' volatile around Cas?

The thought was still bothering him when he entered the spare bedroom that adjoined the upstairs bathroom, intending to leave the clothes on the bed for Cas. Of course the bathroom door opened just as he threw the clothes down, emitting a billow of steam and a very wet, very flushed, very mostly naked Castiel. _Thank god for towels_ was the only thing Dean could seem to think as his gaze raked across the picture in front of him - something he was painfully aware he couldn't have prevented if he'd tried. The look on Cas's face really didn't help matters.

The angel was seriously…blissed out.

"I think - " Cas began, his voice far too low and far too pleasured for as far as Dean's frayed nerves were concerned, " - that I could become used to hot showers."

Dean did his best to ignore how heavily he swallowed as Cas headed for the pile of clothes on the bed, one hand clutching the towel in place around his waist.

Dean had come to accept a few things since the whole cupid-bombshell. He'd accepted that he had a fondness for Cas - a fondness that he hadn't really studied too hard as yet but a fondness none the less. He'd also come to accept that apparently he could find pleasure in kissing a man. This wasn't so bad - in the end he could blame the fact that Cas seemed to be scary-quick on the uptake when it came to skilled necking. And really, when it came down to the hot slide of tongues and mouths there was little difference between the sexes. But this...

Dean found himself watching a bead of water a little too intently as it trailed over Cas's collarbone.

This was Dean fully CHECKING OUT a DUDE. And there was little sense in denying the stab of attraction he felt deep in his gut while he was doing it, too. It was insane.

Jesus Christ, he was gay for a friggin' angel.

Dean would have high-tailed it in that moment out of sheer panic except that Cas turned his back on him slightly to retrieve the sweat-pants from the bed. When he did, a big, ugly graze was revealed across his shoulder and Dean found something in him clench at the sight. He was definitely never going to get used to this whole wounded-Cas thing.

"Jesus, Cas, what happened to your shoulder?" he asked raggedly. Cas, for his part, rolled the shoulder in question before wincing slightly as he turned to face Dean.

"I was told I landed rather..." he paused for a moment, seeming to search for the words,"...difficultly."

Dean just blinked at him as the angel shrugged, an all too human gesture that only made him wince again.

"It’s not bad," Cas commented, causing Dean to snort.

"Put the pants on and come in here," he directed, turning for the bathroom. "There should be something in the first aid kit."

Determinedly ignoring the shuffle of clothing from the other room, Dean rummaged through the kit beneath the sink, sorting through bandages, Vaseline and safety pins before he came across a tube of antiseptic ointment. Cas padded back into the bathroom on bare feet as he straightened, and Dean couldn't help but notice that the newly-showered allure Cas seemed to have acquired was not hindered at all by the old pair of sweats hanging low on his narrow hips. God, Dean was so going back to hell. Perving on an angel had to earn you some hard time, right? Like, special-tenth-circle hard time?

"C'mere," he waved Cas over, directing him in front of the mirror so that his back and the graze was facing Dean. It wasn't until he glanced up into the mirror to find Cas's blue eyes on his that the memory of what had happened between them the last time they were in a bathroom hit him in the chest like a wrecking ball.

Oh hell...

Swallowing thickly, Dean dropped his gaze, concentrating his attention on the graze. The first touch of ointment to the wound had Cas flinching and Dean grimaced. "Sorry," he apologised, his voice low. "This is gonna sting."

Dean watched in the mirror as Cas nodded, eyes closing and his head bowing. For long minutes Dean worked in silence, soothing the ointment across the angel's shoulder before Cas sighed. "The pain is..." he began, uncertain. "It's new."

Dean raised an eyebrow, remembering back to the moments as he'd cut the sigil into Cas's chest. "You’ve felt pain before, though," he pointed out and watched as Cas nodded in the mirror.

"Yes but. This...this is different..." Again a pause. "It’s difficult to explain." Dean waited as Cas seemed to consider before continuing. "This - whatever I am now - it makes the world...harsher, in a way. Sharper. I am unused to human sensation."

Dean frowned as he remembered back to Anna's words as she explained why she would miss humanity; how angels didn't feel. He’d had enough experience with Cas so far to know that had been a crock of widely over-exaggerated shit, but still...

“Is it so much worse?” he asked, swiping a thumb across the untouched skin below Cas's shoulder blade as he did. It was an unthinking action that startled Dean about as much as it did Cas, if the angel’s quick inhale was anything to go by. Dean looked up and met Cas's eyes in the mirror once more, something in them making his mouth go slightly dry.

“Not worse,” Cas answered, his voice falling lower than Dean had ever heard it - impossibly he would have thought. “Just different. Angels feel – just usually not as violently as humans do.”

Dean couldn't have missed the strategic use of 'usually' if his life had depended on it. Whether it was that or the look in Cas's eyes as he held his gaze in the mirror that made Dean act he would never know. Abandoning the now fully tended graze he dropped the tube on the bathroom counter before he reached out, smoothing the palm of his hand up and between Cas's shoulder blades – the place he could imagine Cas's wings had once emerged.

In the mirror Cas's eyes widened. “What - are you doing?” the angel stammered, and Dean smirked – it was instinct in an overly charged situation, and this one practically had sparks dancing on his skin.

“I'm seeing if I can't get you to appreciate human sensation,” he replied boldly, and then, in a sure move that belied the thundering of his heart, he leaned down and replaced his hand with his mouth.

The noise Cas made at the first touch of his lips shot straight south. But despite the sharp spike in Dean’s pulse at the sound, he took his time, trailing a line of open-mouthed kisses up Cas's spine until he reached the back of the angel’s neck. Tendrils of damp hair brushed across his cheek as he found the point he'd latched onto the last time they'd seen each other.

"Oh..." Cas shuddered beneath him as Dean scraped teeth lightly over his pulse-point and Dean snaked one hand around the angel's hip, drawing Cas back flush against his own body. The sharp, delicious pressure this brought saw Dean groan low in his throat, matching the moan that broke from Cas's lips.

“D-Dean...please...”

Oh God, that voice. Dean glanced up to the mirror through his lashes – lips and teeth and breath still working to wring the hot little sounds from Cas's throat as he did. The picture that greeted him almost had him flying apart right there.

Cas was lost, eyes closed and neck arched as he leaned back fully into Dean's weight. Somewhere in the moment one of Dean's hands had worked its way up to splay on Cas's bare chest, holding him steady – tanned skin a contrast to pale. Dean could almost make out the faint lines of the sigil there, now a thin scar. His other gripped Cas's hip, pulling their bodies together and Dean watched Cas's hand came to cover his own, threading their fingers together and pressing...

Dean swore as Cas's ass ground into him, abandoning the angel's neck to breathe hotly in his ear. “I'm gonna lose it if you keep doing that.”

In the mirror, Cas opened his eyes, gaze finding Dean's with an intensity that almost had Dean groaning all over again. And then, very deliberately, Cas rolled his hips backward and Dean's breath caught on a moan as his eyes widened.

Mother FUCKER.

Things were very quickly spiralling out of control, but whether it was the thundering of his heart or the absolutely fucking hot look in Cas's eyes, Dean found himself utterly unable to care. He'd been challenged. And two could play at that game.

He should have been more nervous, he supposed. The only male body he'd ever touched in a pleasurable way had been his own. It was one of those facts of life he'd never seen changing - like Sam being a bitch or Bobby showing his affection by constantly insulting peoples' intelligence – and yet, as Dean slipped his hand down the front of the sweat-pants clinging precariously to Cas's hips, he didn't really even think twice. The feel of a hardness not his own in his grip was a little surreal at first but Cas's reaction to the sensation was enough to have Dean skipping the awkwardness and sliding straight into instinctual action.

He watched in the mirror as Cas's eyes blew wide, pupils drowning the blue even darker as he jerked in Dean's arms. “Oh – Oh fuck!”

Dean chuckled darkly against Cas's throat. “Getting quite a mouth on you there Cas,” he murmured lowly, making a point of ghosting his breath over the angel's ear.

“You – ah! - You're a bad influence,” Cas managed to gasp before his eyes squeezed closed and one calculated twist of Dean's hand had him moaning anew. Dean's hips had developed a mind of their own, pressing in hard as Cas writhed against him – the friction enough to have Dean wishing he'd worn anything but jeans.

And for a time there was only breath and gasps and moans and touch… Then a particularly delft stroke had Cas shuddering in his arms, the angel’s breath catching.

“Dean – I can't – _oh_...”

Dean read the desperation in Cas's voice with a hot thread of instinct. “C'mon,” he urged, voice low and wrecked against Cas's neck. “Just let go.”

And then, keeping his eyes fixed on Cas in the mirror, he bit down. Cas went rigid, blunt fingernails digging into the skin of Dean's wrist around his waist as his mouth opened in a silent gasp. And damn but if the sight of Cas coming wasn't the most fucking attractive thing Dean had ever seen.

Very suddenly Dean's frustration at his own choice of clothing utterly failed to matter as he found himself tripping headlong into orgasm himself, his vision twinging white at the corners with the force of it.

He came back to awareness to find himself braced heavily over Cas's back – his forehead buried in the curve of the angel's neck. For the longest moment all he could do was breathe in the smell of clean skin and something deliciously telling of what they'd just done before he finally got up the strength to lift his gaze to the mirror.

Cas's face, flushed and utterly debauched, looked back at him.

“I believe I’m coming to see the positives of my current affliction,” Cas said very seriously and Dean laughed, dropping a kiss onto the back of Cas’s neck as he pulled away from him. Cas looked mildly startled at the action for a moment before the corner of his mouth lifted in what Dean was coming to recognise as the angel’s version of a smile.

And Dean tried not to think about how instinctual it seemed to be to want to do it again.

* * *

Castiel followed Dean downstairs, his mind a pleasant haze. So that was sex. Or sexual activity, at least.

He had to admit, what with all his voyeuristic escapades - seeing an orgasm was a far, far cry from actually experiencing one. His legs still shook with it - enough that he'd had to collapse a little on the bed while he'd waited for Dean to finish in the bathroom. As he trailed after Dean down the stairs, Castiel found himself wondering idly if the effect was a purely human one or whether his body would be capable of the same pleasure with his power in tact.

Of course that line of thought led to a far more somber one; one having to do with the state he now found himself in. He wasn’t strictly human - he could feel the world around him just a shade differently than those afflicted with true mortality, he knew. But he was no longer fully an angel either. Pestilence had been correct in his assessment of his vessel. His grace was completely depleted. Whether or not his situation was permanent was something only time would tell. In the meantime, he was mortal, or as mortal as a graceless angel could be. And he was feeling…everything.

He could still recall the sensation of Dean’s mouth on him; Dean’s teeth marking him; Dean’s hands bringing him to such mind-numbing heights. But more than that - more than any physical sensation - were the almost painful emotions roiling inside of him, unchecked and wholly terrifying. Being near Dean was becoming an exercise in intensity the likes of which Castiel hadn’t felt since Famine had inspired the hunger in him.

And yet, despite everything, Castiel found the whole messy experience to be…exhilarating.

And so he followed Dean, watching the muscles of the man’s back through the thin shirt he wore. Castiel had known from the moment he’d laid eyes on Dean, remade and whole by his own hand that the man was what humanity typically called attractive. And as someone who had cradled the man’s soul against his own true form, Castiel had never seen Dean as anything but beautiful.

This new appreciation though… Castiel’s eyes dropped lower and he found himself biting his lip. This was an altogether different scenario.

Very suddenly Dean stopped halfway down the stairs and turned back to him, eyes wide. Castiel barely lifted his gaze in time.

"Are you humming Back in Black?" Dean asked, his tone incredulous.

Castiel tilted his head, brow furrowing as he realised that yes, yes he had been. Without even realising it. It was disconcerting having his body acting on instinct all on its own - his finite control of the vessel slipping as his essence melded more securely with it. Jimmy Novak was still within him of course – he could feel his presence, still thankfully buried and well cushioned. More so than he had been before Castiel came to know the suffering he endured as a vessel. For now though, without his grace to buffer the connection to his vessel, he found the body becoming just as much his as it had ever been Jimmy’s.

Castiel found himself shrugging, an all too human gesture that nevertheless seemed to come naturally. "I believe the T-shirt may have something to do with it," he explained, fingering a frayed edge of the garment Dean had lent him. For some reason the knowledge that he was wearing Dean's own clothes had caused something warm to settle in Castiel's chest. A feeling that didn’t seem to want to abate. The look Dean turned on him upon his explanation caused an altogether different feeling.

“You know who AC/DC are?” Dean uttered, voice low and very familiar. Castiel found himself vividly recalling that same voice hot in his ear not half an hour ago. Castiel nodded, his breath catching as Dean swayed minutely into him. Then voices suddenly filtered up from the living room below. Castiel watched as Dean seemed to struggle with himself for a moment before turning back downstairs with a growl.

The “later” was heavily implied.

They emerged into the kitchen to find Sam's face a mask of well-etched horror as he looked at Bobby. The old hunter for his part seemed to be doing his best impression of a fire-engine. It was the last figure in the room that Castiel found himself honing in on, however. The stance on the man screamed arrogant business man. Everything else screamed demon.

"Crowley?" Dean growled beside him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"He's made a deal with Bobby," Sam informed him, his voice treading the fine line between shock and anger. Castiel glanced at Dean to find the man's face darkening.

"You what?" Dean growled, turning a very heated glare on Bobby, who shrugged uncomfortably under the scrutiny.

"It's the end of the world," Bobby explained, voice small. "Seemed a little late to get all uppity about one piddly little soul."

Castiel watched as Dean's face went positively apocalyptic before Sam suddenly interrupted. "Wait - did you kiss him?" he asked, his voice the same strange mix of anxiety and curiosity it had been when he'd asked the nature of the relationship between Castiel and Dean.

Castiel found himself agreeing with Dean’s barked “Sam!”. This was neither the time nor place and yet… Castiel couldn’t deny that even he was curious.

Very suddenly Bobby found all eyes on him and for a moment the hunter seemed at a loss before he barked, "No!"

Castiel didn't even have to rely on his more super-human senses to know the old hunter was lying. A moment later his assumption was proven correct as Crowley cleared his throat - displaying a picture on his phone to the whole room. A slight hitch of humour tickled the back of Castiel’s throat as the Winchester's looked from the picture back to Bobby. The old hunter's face was now almost purple in his embarrassment.

"Why'd you have to take a picture?" he mumbled.

Castiel watched as Crowley raised one eyebrow. "Why'd you have to use tongue?"

"You frenched a freaking DEMON?" Dean suddenly exclaimed, which caused Crowley to huff in a laugh.

"Princess, after what you just got through doing, you are in no sort of position to judge," the demon quipped smoothly. Whether it was the demon's words, the sudden choking noise emitted by Sam or the violent crimson colour Dean suddenly went following the proclamation, Castiel found he couldn't keep the corners of his mouth from tipping upwards. He ducked his head too late for Dean not to notice.

“What are you smirking at?” Dean demanded incredulously. Castiel gave in, raising his eyes to a room full of stares.

“He's amusing,” Castiel replied simply, nodding at Crowley. And then, almost as an afterthought - “For an unclean denizen of hell.”

Crowley smirked across from him. “Flattery will get you everywhere."

And Dean's outraged “Hey!” very nearly drowned out Sam’s snort of laughter. Very nearly.


	10. Last Night on Earth

The end of the world was forthcoming and the Winchesters were doing what they did best – reclining with a beer and looking at the stars. It was sappy and ridiculous and therefore something he was obviously never going to admit to another soul, but Dean couldn't deny that times like this were some of his most treasured moments between him and Sammy. Of course, agreeing to back Sam's suicidal last play put a bit of a dampener on tonight's relaxation.

Even so, as Dean leaned back against his baby, he couldn't bring himself to regret his decision. As epically massive as some of his brother's mistakes had been, he couldn't deny that his trusting Sam was rather long overdue. And hell, if he couldn't find a little faith at the end of the world then he was never damn-well going to.

And so, in the moment - as screwed as they were - things were good; comfortable. Of course Sam had to ruin it.

“So -” the great Sasquatch began, and from the tone of his voice Dean already knew his damn brother was going to be pressing the sharing and caring. He wasn't disappointed. “You and Cas...”

Dean only just kept himself from rolling his eyes, taking a large swig of beer as he pretended like crazy that his face wasn't heating up into one hell of a blush. “What about us?” he grunted.

“You two... doing well?” Sam asked, his voice an irritating mix of suppressed humour and caring seriousness.

“He's not my freaking high-school sweetheart, Sam,” Dean growled, ignoring Sam's huff of laughter as he took another swig. He was going to MURDER Crowley, seriously. Ever since the damn demon had slipped the truth about Dean and Cas's... closeness, things within Bobby's house had just been damn awkward. Dean was actually surprised it'd taken Sam this long to bring it up.

“You care about him though,” Sam remarked astutely. It wasn’t a question and that made Dean grind his teeth a little just on the principle of the thing. Even so, he didn't deny it – shrugging as he dangled the beer over his knee.

For a full moment Sam didn't say anything and Dean sighed. His brother was in one of his chick-flick moods obviously – this one fuelled by possible impending death. There was no way Dean was getting out of this without talking out his feelings. Which was a bitch, since he hadn't really studied his feelings about Cas too hard as yet.

Dean had been telling himself it was because of the apocalypse – he had too much else on his mind; there were things more important – but deep down he sorta grudgingly knew: his feelings when it came to Cas utterly terrified him. Emotional intensity had never been Dean's friend. He struggled through when it came to family because... well, it was family, but this... whatever it was happening to him over Cas...

Dean looked up and met Sam's eyes. “I care about him,” he conceded grudgingly. “Probably more than I should.”

“Is it the guy thing-” Sam began questioningly and Dean found himself shaking his head before he even knew he was doing it. It was only then that he realised that the fact Cas was a dude no longer really factored into the equation. Sure it was going to make anything physical that happened between them a...uh, pretty new experience, but hell: end of the world. A little thing like sexual experimentation seemed a little trivial by comparison.

“No... I mean…” Dean paused, taking another swig of his fast-emptying beer. Jesus, this was not a conversation he would have ever thought he'd be having with his little brother, let alone one he should have been having this sober. “Don't get me wrong – it's a little fucking weird-” Sam's snort of agreement earned him a short glare before Dean continued. “It's just... I'm not...” He struggled to find the words. “I'm not good with people – I'm not good _for_ people...”

Dean squirmed under Sam's serious look for a moment before his brother smiled at him slightly. “How about you let Cas decide that?” Sam suggested quietly.

Dean finished his beer.

* * *

Dean found Cas on the porch, the angel's face a mask of concentration as he stared at a rifle in pieces before him on the low coffee table. Dean sidled up to the railing, fresh bottle in hand, and leaned.

"You think if you stare long enough it'll get so embarrassed it'll put itself together?" he inquired, a very real thread of amusement winding through his voice. It was strange, really - despite the weight and terror of the happenings around them, Dean still managed to find a lightness around Cas these days. He watched as a corner of Cas's mouth ticked up.

And then, without speaking, Cas leaned forward and, quickly and methodically - like he'd been doing it all his life - he put the gun back together.

Dean raised one brow. "Bobby show you how to do that?" he asked, impressed despite himself. 

He was even more so when Cas shook his head. "No." The finished gun clacked slightly as Cas placed it back on the table. "The pieces are part of a whole," Cas said, looking up and fixing Dean with a gaze that made something twist slightly in his chest. "I'm good at putting things back together."

Dean flushed a little despite himself, taking a long drag of his beer and trying ignore the obvious implications of THAT statement. "Remind me to buy you a stack of puzzles if we survive the end of the world," he commented, aiming for a light tone but not quite making it. The cutting words he'd thrown at Cas the day he'd run to say yes to Michael ticked at the edge of his mind. _It should have been Michael..._

Dean was pulled out of his thoughts as Cas stood, rounding the table to join him at the railing. He would have protested when the damn angel snagged the beer out of his hand if only the sight of Cas taking a long pull from the bottle hadn't been so damn... distracting. This whole attraction-to-men thing was proving more than a little persistent. Dean had caught himself more than once checking Cas out – raking eyes over a body that hadn't actually been the angel's to begin with...

Speaking of.

“So, does Jimmy like beer?” Dean asked, watching as Cas blinked down at the bottle before turning eyes on him.

“I don't know,” he replied simply, and Dean sighed. So much for subtle.

“So he can't, you know – taste it when you do?” Once again, he tried for casual and his tone fell short of its mark.

The look Cas fixed him with seemed mildly amused. “You're asking if Jimmy experiences what I do,” he observed.

Dean caught the beer back – taking a swig, damning the little part of his brain that was pointing out that the feel of sharing something as trivial as a bottle of beer was a pleasant one. “Yeah – I am.”  

Dean watched as Cas seemed to gather his thoughts a moment, a slight trepidation rising in him that the question seemed to warrant a thoughtful answer. A simple yes or no wouldn’t suffice?

“Jimmy is the first vessel I have taken,” Cas started. “When I first entered this body I also connected with his soul – his consciousness. I needed his experience with life to help guide my way.”

Dean nodded in understanding – it made sense, after all. He watched as Cas ducked his head, almost as if he were...ashamed? Guilty? “I wasn't aware that keeping him close pained him – that he would recall some of his time as a host.”

Ah. Dean recalled his one meeting with Jimmy Novak; the man's description of playing vessel to an angel of the Lord. He hadn't really thought about how Cas would take that realisation – or even that he hadn't known to begin with. Back then Cas had just been another dick angel – it had never occurred to Dean that Cas would feel bad for putting his vessel through the sort of pain Jimmy described.

“When I returned to this body I... I didn't entirely follow protocol,” Cas continued, his voice now almost sheepish – like he was admitting a shameful breach of orders, which Dean guessed he was. “I buried Jimmy's consciousness completely and used a piece of...” Cas's head tipped, a wry little smile on his lips. “... well, you would call it my soul, to bind him.”

“What does that mean?” Dean asked, the enormity of this revelation ticking at the corner of his mind.

“It means Jimmy is safe, without pain and unaware,” Cas explained. “But at a cost for me.”

“What sort of cost?” Dean frowned.

“If I leave this vessel I will be leaving a part of myself behind,” Cas explained. “A piece of my soul, the piece cushioning Jimmy, will be ripped from me.”

For a long second Dean could only gape. “Won't that hurt?”

“It would be excruciating,” Cas said, voice far more goddamn casual than Dean thought the situation warranted. He must have seen the look on Dean's face, because the gaze he turned on him then was reassuring. “It is a small price,” Cas said quietly. “Just as it was before.”

Dean frowned, beer forgotten in his hand. “Before?”

Dean almost swallowed his tongue when Cas's eyes dropped to his arm. The one with a palm-shaped brand seared into it. Jesus CHRIST.

“You were not the only one marked by our passage out of hell,” Cas said as Dean struggled to pick his jaw up off the floor.

“I have a piece of your SOUL?” Dean asked incredulously.

Cas nodded. “And I yours,” he noted, far too fucking calmly in Dean’s opinion. “It was... unusual,” the angel continued, frowning slightly as if recalling a faint memory. “I gripped your soul tight when I raised you...”

“And that's unusual?” Dean interrupted, voice taking on the resigned sort of quality that follows shock.

Cas shook his head. “No. It was unusual that your soul gripped back.”

Dean finished his beer in silence, unconcerned in a dazed, surreal sort of way when Cas snagged it twice more from his grip to steal a mouthful. But what the hell, apparently they'd shared their freaking _souls_ \- a beer was kinda small potatoes after something like that.

After what seemed an age in which they stared out into the darkness, Dean sliding into a comfort he'd only ever really felt around... damn, around family - Cas finally broke the silence. “Sam will say yes,” he said quietly.

Dean's throat tightened at the words just like they always did. “That's the plan,” he replied bitterly. Motherfucking bitch of a plan but the only one they had. God, the only one they had.

“So this could be our last night,” Cas pointed out, cutting into his depressing thoughts. 

Dean frowned slightly as he glanced over at the angel by his side, noting the line of his stance – blue eyes distant as they traced the stars. Despite it, though, Dean suddenly recognised the tone in his voice. “Are you  - are you pulling the last-night-on-earth line on me?” he asked, not sure if he was more shocked or insanely frigging amused.

The look Cas ticked over at him – mouth slightly curved, a spark of almost... mischief in his eyes -  made the final decision. And Dean laughed – a sound so ridiculously out of place considering the circumstances, but fuck it if it didn't feel damn good.

Fisting the borrowed AC/DC shirt and pulling Cas into him felt even better.

* * *

How they made it up the stairs Dean would never know. How they made it up the stairs without Bobby or Sam catching them – well that was just a bonafide miracle right there. Even if they had been caught, though, Dean didn't think he would have been able to stop – the sound Cas made when Dean pressed the angel up against the door was too... God, too everything.

The handle took two goes before it gave and the two of them tumbled into the spare room. Dean barely remembered to shove the door closed after them before he felt hands on his skin – sliding his shirt up and over his head before his mind could rightly keep track of it happening. But God it was worth it a moment later when Cas's hands were replaced with his mouth – hot and slightly clumsy but fuck, so very, very good.

Dean didn't even realise they'd been moving backwards until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he overbalanced, taking Cas with him as he hit the mattress. Thankfully Cas managed to catch most of his weight on his hands either side of Dean’s head before he landed fully, but even so, Dean suddenly found himself able to add one more thing to his sliding list of gay experiences.

Dean had had women under him, on top of him - damn, just about every which way - but none of it had ever felt like this. Being pressed into a mattress with a strength that matched his own; feeling smooth planes and taut muscle where he was used to softness and curves… It should have freaked Dean out. Instead, as Cas scraped his teeth down his neck, strong hands finding purchase on his hips and digging in so deliciously, Dean couldn’t seem to keep his mind from unraveling slightly.

And he was panting. For fuck sake. “C-Cas… oh!”

And okay, maybe the damn angel wasn’t the only one who appreciated things a little rough. Dean shuddered as Cas laved the newly inflicted bite mark before doing it again at the sound of Cas’s voice, hot in his ear. “I want you.”

And hell but if that wasn’t one of the hottest things that had ever been said to him.

“You've got me,” Dean said, voice far more ragged than he’d ever thought it would be. Cas seemed to pause above him before leaning up to meet his gaze.

“No, I...” Cas trailed off with a frown, his eyes seeming to be trying to communicate where words had failed him. And then Dean got it.

Oh fuck...

Cas must have read the words in his eyes because he was suddenly pulling away. “I'm sorry,” he apologised lowly. “It's too much-”

Dean should have been freaking; God knew his mind was thoroughly a-spin with what Cas seemed to be asking. But instead all he could focus on was that Cas was pulling away – taking his warmth and skin and _God_ , that scent with him and something inside of Dean; something wholly instinctual panicked.

“No!” he blurted roughly, grasping Cas's arm and pulling him back. Then he swallowed. “No,” he repeated, willing his voice into some semblance of calm despite his hammering heart. Because fuck, was he really contemplating this?

“It's not too much.”

Apparently so.

Dean pulled Cas's mouth back down to his as he tried to make sense of the situation. How he'd come this far and not thought on the mechanics of actually... well... having _sex_ with a guy was just mind boggling. But he hadn't. With everything that was going on – Sam, Michael, Crowley – the end of the world...Cas had been the little prickle of sanity in an insane world. And he was very well aware of how fucked THAT was. That being attracted to a dude angel was normal in comparison to everything else going on spoke spades about the state of Dean's life right now.

And now that angel wanted to have sex with him. Real live, penetrating, thrusting, gay sex. Dean had never been what you might call a prude in the bedroom. And after a drunken night with an experimental barmaid in Milwaukee four years ago that he could hardly remember beyond waking up strangely... achy in a very telling area, he knew that his body wasn't exactly innocent to... well, such activities. But this... stupid as it was, this was a line for him.

Dean fucking loved making out with Cas – as long as it had taken him to admit it - and the foray into the more carnal pleasures they'd tripped across in the bathroom that morning had been nothing but mind-blowing. Going from that to sex with the guy though...

Dean was pulled momentarily from his thought process as Castiel shifted above him, lightening the play of tongue and teeth slightly into something almost...gentle. It was a new sensation. One that spoke of something almost too big – too significant for Dean to really face right then. He found his chest tightening slightly, his breath catching as Cas turned a simple, carnal kiss into something almost like worship.

Trust a friggin' angel.

And it was then that Dean truly remembered who Cas was. This was Cas who had pulled him from Hell; Cas who had sacrificed himself not once but twice in his quest to aid Dean. The stupid friggin' bastard had done nothing but give. And now Dean found himself in a position to give back. And more than that – Dean suddenly realised he really, really wanted to.

Dean very nearly laughed when he remembered his words from what felt like years ago – back before this whole mess had started. _“I'm not going to let you die a virgin.”_

Cas must have felt the change in him because he pulled away slightly, a questioning look on his kiss-bitten features. Dean grinned, and not just because Cas looking debauched was just never going to get old. “Stay here,” he directed, crawling out from under Cas and heading for the bathroom. Cas's questioning look followed him but the frown was slight – his eyes trusting.

The Vaseline was right where Dean remembered it and as he headed back into the bedroom, jar in hand, he mentally reminded himself to replace it with a new one...you know, if he survived the apocalypse and all.

Cas's look of understanding when he spied the jar was more than a little freaking weird, but before Dean could comment he was being pulled back into what was becoming a pleasantly familiar heat.

The feel of skin on skin when Dean managed to divest Cas of his t-shirt was all at once wholly new and completely... awesome. Cas's body lacked the bulk of hunt-hardened muscle that Dean's had, but was by no means lacking in the toned department - Dean's full frontal of the newly showered angel that morning had been enough to hammer that particular fact home in Dean's mind. But going from admiring the look of a man's body to revelling in the touch of it... Dean found himself wondering if he'd been capable of this type of attraction before or if it was just something about Cas.

Somewhere in the moment their movements had turned frantic again - hands and mouths hot as they gripped and moaned against each other. Dean gasped jaggedly when Cas moved from his mouth to his neck once more, the action distracting him enough that Dean didn't realise Cas had shifted until he was bucking into a hot hand cupping the front of his jeans. "Fuck!"

"See," Cas groaned raggedly against his neck. "Bad influence."

Dean's gasp of laughter morphed into a moan when Cas took the opportunity to squeeze slightly before his fingers shifted up, finding the button of his jeans. A moment passed. "Want a hand there?" Dean grinned, stifling a laugh at the look of utter frustration on Cas's face as the angel wrestled with the catch on the jeans. 

In a way Dean was mildly relieved - what with all the mind-blowing kisses and bizarre knowledge, here finally was something that proved Cas was as inexperienced as he'd said he was. "Make it work," Cas ordered and Dean grinned at the tone before he took over, unhitching the button with an ease born of repetition. The slight relief as the pressure of the material was eased was drowned a moment later in a far sharper sensation as Cas took swift advantage of the new access.

Jesus Christ this - Dean's breath shuttered in his chest as he bucked instinctively into Cas's touch - THIS was why it was becoming harder and harder to match the thought of Castiel with any sort of virginity. There was no hesitation to him; no nervousness. There was just want - and a skill that Dean found as shocking as it was entirely fucking awesome. Well… most of the time. Right now for instance he was about to lose it and his pants hadn't even come all the way off yet, which was more than a little embarrassing.

The look Cas pinned Dean with when he grabbed the angel's wrist, stilling his movements, didn't really help the situation. Dean didn't think he'd ever seen anyone look at him with that level of hunger before.

"Clothes..." Dean panted. "Less clothes."

It took a few moments of shuffling awkwardness to get them both divested of the remainder of their clothing, hindered mostly by the fact they couldn't seem to go for more than a moment without touching - stealing kisses and heated grazes of skin with a desperation Dean didn't think he'd ever experienced before now. When the last sock finally hit the floor Dean didn't even get the opportunity to feel exposed before Cas was there, hands firm as he pressed Dean back into the mattress again, mouth open and demanding against his own. And God, but if the sensation of Cas's bare chest had been good then this - Dean groaned as the angles of Cas's body fitted against his own with a delicious slide of skin - this was just fucking incredible.

Cas's harsh moan as Dean pressed him closer, dragging blunt nails down his back was one Dean was never going to forget. And then Dean shifted slightly, his legs falling open and their lower bodies lined up just so...

It was Cas's gasp this time that broke the kiss, not that Dean was in any state to complain as his eyes snapped closed - teeth gritting with the effort not to bring things to a glorious end right there with a few instinctual thrusts. Jesus he hadn't been this on edge since he was a damn teenager. Cas certainly wasn't helping, his hips canting in seemingly involuntary little movements as he struggled to breathe above him.

"Dean... I can't- I want..."

It really was pretty hilarious that Cas - well spoken, forthright angel of the Lord - became nonsensical at the height of passion. It was also completely and utterly hot. Dean hooked one hand around Cas's neck, tugging him down into a searing kiss as his other roamed across the bedspread searching for... there. By the time Cas pulled back from him, Dean had the lid off the jar of Vaseline. Then of course came THE moment. The split second decision where Dean decided exactly how far he was going to go with this whole gay thing. Because there was world of difference in his mind between... uh... pitching and… well, catching. No, make that several worlds. Maybe a couple of galaxies.

Surprisingly, the decision his mind settled on was not what he'd thought it would be. But then again, Dean had always been a dive-head-first-in-the-deep-end kind of guy when it came to new experiences. The look on Cas's face when he offered the angel the jar was deeply amusing. "I'm assuming you know what to do with this?" Dean said sarcastically, huffing a short laugh when Cas proved him right in the moments following.

It was uncomfortable at first – there was no denying it. The sensation of stretching and an almost... intrusion was only made marginally better by the familiar, bone-deep sensation of Cas kissing him. And then Cas did something – twisting slighting and pressing just _there_ and Dean found himself arching off the bed with a strangled gasp. “The FUCK?”

The sensation alone was enough to shock but the look on Cas's face as the angel hovered over him was just... insane. Lustful, hungry and... knowing.

“Jesus, how do you KNOW this shit?” Dean gasped. If Cas was bothered by the blasphemy, he didn't show it; instead, a very real smirk settled over his features and Dean's thoughts were suddenly thrown back to the last time Cas had hovered over him with that expression.

Cas tilted his head like he was sharing a private joke. “I'm a giant perve,” he said simply, and Dean was almost ready to demand answers before Cas did... IT again. Dean found himself with a very sudden understanding of how guy on guy action worked and worked well.

Cas's almost desperation of the moments before seemed to have faded slightly as his concentration shifted to Dean, his eyes hot and dark on Dean's face as he proved that his insane beginner’s luck with anything sexual definitively extended to... to whatever this was. Dean's own desire, however, was swiftly building back up from where it had waned in his nervousness - something he would never have thought possible with what was happening. Not even the slight awkwardness of being under such intense scrutiny was able to dull the heady spikes of need every time Cas found that spot inside of him. "Fuck," he gasped. "Cas, please..."

And now he was begging. Fucking hell. Dean couldn’t really bring himself to fully regret it, though, not when a second later he had Cas all over him again, mouth hot and a little desperate on his own.

“Dean I - I don’t…” Cas rasped low against his neck and Dean didn’t think he’d ever heard anyone’s voice sound so in pieces. It caused a spike of pure, unadulterated need to go through him which effectively dulled the nerves threatening to turn his stomach into knots. It was enough; enough that when he took over, answering Cas’s unspoken plea and guided Cas into him that the slight panic over the feeling was manageable.

The sensation of Cas pushing into him was… everything all at once. So wholly different from the feeling of sinking into someone else - this was breaking and gasping and trust…. Jesus Christ, this was trust like Dean had never known before…

And Cas was earning it, body rigid and taut above him - his control something Dean had to fucking admire because he sure as hell would never have been able to go this slowly had it been his first time. And Cas was shaking, skin practically humming under Dean’s hands. Cas was completely and totally on edge and Dean had put him there. The knowledge was… intense.

The sound Cas made when Dean pulled him down into another kiss was very nearly a whimper, but Dean couldn’t find it in himself to be amused because God only knew what would come out of his own mouth at this point if he wasn’t keeping it so busy.

It hurt a little - there was no denying the fact, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as Dean had thought it would be. And after all he’d been through… well - this small sting was almost welcome. The sense of intrusion was slowly fading too, drowning in Cas’s heat; Cas’s mouth sure and hot and, as always, fucking incredible upon his own. Dean didn’t even realise that Cas had stopped moving - was seated fully within him - until the angel broke the kiss to gasp harshly into his neck, a full body shudder running through his rigid frame.

It was then that it really hit Dean - what he was doing, who he was doing it with. And as much as Dean six months ago would have thought the situation warranted a major freakout Dean in that moment just couldn’t seem to work past the intense feeling of… God, of _rightness_.

Dean smoothed his hands up over Cas’s back, feeling the muscles shift under his touch until he reached his destination and carded his fingers through the angel’s hair. “You okay?” he asked, voice far more wrecked than he’d thought it would be. Jesus they hadn’t even really… well, got to the strenuous stuff yet and he already sounded like he’d run a marathon.

Cas nodded against his neck slightly before pulling back to meet his eyes. And while Dean may have sounded wrecked it was nothing to the way Cas looked in that moment. It made Dean’s gut swoop a little.

“This is…” Cas’s voice trailed off, his eyes momentarily sliding closed as his breath hitched. And Dean didn’t really need him to finish; he knew. The feel of being inside another person was as heady as it was awesome and while it’d been an age since his first time he vaguely recalled the wonder and awe of the initial sensations. That he was the one giving them to Cas was just… insane - in the best possible way.

“It gets better.” And then, in a move that was all instinct, he shifted, pulling Cas impossibly closer and causing a sliding movement deep inside. The momentary twinge of pain was worth it as Cas moaned sharply, eyes snapping wide and dark.

“D-Dean-”

“Move,” Dean ordered, and Cas, fucking wonderful angel of the Lord that he was, didn’t need telling twice.

Cas set a slow, steady rhythm at first and again Dean couldn’t help but admire the fucking control. It had to be a heaven thing - some speck of angel left over - because there was no way humanity would have been playing a part in this sort of discipline. Having said that, Dean had a feeling nothing could have stopped the short, sharp sounds breaking from Cas’s lips on each thrust. Not that Dean was complaining.

Dean had always been what people called a giving lover. Personally he thought the term a bit ironic. Right now for instance, every damn moan, every sharp gasp from Cas was serving to wind something deep inside of him to new heights. Dean got off when others did; to him it was as selfish as it was generous. That Cas getting off seemed to hit him with more force than a sledgehammer to the gut seemed a perfectly awesome bonus.

And then Cas hooked one hand behind Dean’s knee and lifted slightly and Dean was arching off the mattress when his next thrust hit that fucking delicious spot inside of him. “Oh God!”

He was rewarded for his blasphemy with a sharp bite to his shoulder and Dean couldn’t have stopped his broken moan if he’d tried. The sting of stretching was a distant memory now, rapidly drowning in a far more pleasurable sort of sharpness and Cas didn’t seem to be willing to let him off easy. Every second or third thrust saw Dean gasping, blunt fingernails digging into pale skin; marking just as surely as he had been in the beginning of it all.

“Cas, _please-_ ”

And Dean cared even less about the pleading the second time around, particularly as this time it earned him a hard kiss and an even harder hand on him, around him and Dean was hurtling towards the edge…

“Let go,” Cas urged, hoarse and low, and Dean would never know if it was the sound of that damn gravelly voice soaked in desperation and repeating his own words back to him or Cas’s particularly deft stroke that broke him but he was suddenly coming, hard. Cas followed him a second later, his cry muffled against the skin of Dean’s neck and Dean clutched at him as the angel shuddered, his own heart hammering in his chest.

For an age there was silence, broken only by the staccato sound of breath petering back to normal, and it took Dean a full moment to realise he still hadn’t stopped touching Cas; hands tracing twitching muscles and relishing the feel of smooth skin. What was more shocking was that - Jesus, he really didn’t want to.

Post-sex Cas was a boneless and exhausted Cas and Dean found himself chuckling fondly as he rearranged them into a somewhat more comfortable position. And as Cas softened into sleep, Dean smoothed fingers through the damn shock of black hair that he was never going to be able to look at without thinking about sex ever again and he felt… he felt…

Fucking hell.

“I’m totally fucking gay for an angel,” he said quietly. Because he couldn’t say the other words. Not yet.


	11. Swan Song

“Aw, ain’t he a little angel,” Dean remarked and, though the tone was sarcastic, Sam caught the telling softness in his brother's eyes as he glanced in the rearview mirror at Cas snoring softly in the back seat. It both warmed Sam’s heart and made him want to throw up in his mouth a little.

Sam had been watching his brother around Cas for some time now - mostly against his better judgment and always with a slight wince at the ready. But just like he hadn’t been able to look away when he’d stumbled across Dean’s heaven, he couldn’t have prevented himself from watching what was happening to his brother lately if someone had paid him.

It was just… too freaking weird. The way Dean watched Cas when he thought no one was looking; the unthinking tendency he had of snagging the ever-present trench-coat and popping the collar when the angel was within range. Dean was just so… damn _familiar_ around Cas now. Then Crowley had gone and spilled _exactly_ how familiar they were. Which was about as gross as it was epically hilarious.

Speaking of…

“You must have worn him out last night,” Sam quipped, watching in satisfaction as Dean spluttered behind the wheel - face flushing the colour of a stop sign. Sam couldn’t help himself. Affecting a breathy moan he continued. “Oh Dean! Yeah, do me Dean!”

“He did NOT say that!” Dean raged only to go even redder when he realised he’d all but admitted that Cas had been saying _other_ things. Sam laughed loudly, mildly impressed that Cas was managing to sleep through their banter. He slept hard for a guy that had never even napped before.

In a way Sam thought it all more than slightly unfair. Dean and Cas’s burgeoning whatever-the-hell-it-was would have been an endless source of teasing - the kind Sam had been looking for his whole damn life. Brotherly love aside, there was no denying that Sam and Dean could give each other hell. Castiel would have been the freaking Holy Grail of teasing ammunition. But with the plan today - success or fail - Sam wasn’t going to get a chance to use it. He wasn’t going to get a chance to do a lot of things.

Watch his stupid, dense brother realise that he was in love, for instance.

Because he was. Sam could see it written into Dean’s very fibres. His brother may have been emotionally stunted, but when it came to those he cared for, his feelings weren’t hard to read - not with the years of experience with it that Sam had.

Sam saw it every time his brother looked at the damn angel. Dean had fallen. Hard. And it was good. With everything going on, with the action he was about to take - Dean was going to need something to cling to when he was gone. Castiel would be good for him. Sam only hoped that his brother wouldn’t epically fuck everything up.

And so, when Sam made Dean promise to leave the Cage be - to let him rot in Hell, it was to Cas he told him to turn. “You’re gonna live your life - you’ll continue to have gross gay sex with Cas and you two will be happy. You’ll do this for me Dean. Promise me.”

And Dean had promised. Though Sam couldn’t fool himself into not recognising the sight of his brother’s heart breaking as he did.

* * *

Everything was fucked. Fucked being a technical term that had served Dean well over the years and seemed all too fitting under the circumstances.

Sammy had said yes and failed. The world was ending and it was happening in Lawrence, Kansas because apparently every friggin’ thing had to happen in their home town. Dean had of course headed straight there because never let it be said he wasn’t as stubborn as the rest of his damn family. And on his way to confront Satan and an archangel, while his brain should have been busy being utterly piss scared, all he could seem to feel was regret. Because he’d walked away from Cas without…

God, he didn’t even know. He just knew he regretted leaving Cas the way he had, even if the angel’s goddamn defeatist attitude had completely pissed him off.

And so when Cas turned up at the cemetery with a damn effective molotov and a less damn effective insult Dean had almost wanted to cheer. Or maybe kiss him. Or both.

Then, with a snap of his little brother’s fingers Dean had felt his whole world very suddenly crash sideways. He barely felt the first hit from Lucifer - it wasn’t until Bobby shot two rounds into his brother’s body that he really came back to himself - just in time for him to lose the old hunter too.

The world may have been ending but it wasn’t until that very moment; that instant that Bobby's body hit the ground soaked in Cas's blood that Dean realised what that meant. He was alone and he was going to die, for good this time. His only consolation was that he would be with Sammy. To the end.

And then his brother proved himself the most stubborn son of a bitch of all time.

“It’s okay Dean… It’s going to be okay… I’ve got him.”

But it wasn’t. Nothing was ever going to be okay again.

* * *

Exploding was not pleasant. It had happened to Castiel twice now and it did not get easier. That God had seen fit to restore him not only the first time he’d gotten himself killed but now the second as well… It was a confusing state of affairs.

Less confusing was the thrum of power through him - the deep undulation of his grace working through his vessel. He was restored and… more. And Dean… Dean was broken.

“Cas? You’re alive?” the hunter choked. And while the face looking up at him was bloody and torn it was the look in the eyes on his that really broke Castiel’s heart.

“I’m better than that,” Castiel said softly, pressing two fingers against Dean’s warm forehead. He could fix the physical damage but the look in Dean’s eyes was something he couldn’t erase. It still shone out at him as Dean rose to eye-level, expression a mix of incredulousness and dread. Castiel could already tell Dean was beginning to understand that things had changed.

“Cas… are you…” Dean began haltingly. “Please tell me I didn’t sleep with God,” he said roughly and despite everything Castiel couldn’t help the slight tug to one corner of his mouth.

“I am not God,” he reassured. “Though I do believe he brought me back.”

Castiel only wished he knew why.

* * *

It took Dean a full hour in the car on the way back to Bobby’s place to get up the courage to ask. “What are you going to do now?”

He kept his eyes on the road as the silence in the passenger seat seemed to grow heavier. Dean knew the moment he heard Cas’s sigh that he wasn’t going to like the answer. “I… I think I have to return to Heaven,” Cas replied, and while his tone was uncertain it didn’t stop the words hammering into Dean’s chest like a rock-salt round.

“You _think?_ ” he growled incredulously, shooting a glare at the angel riding shotgun. Because anger was better than the other emotion clenching in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t help that Cas was in Sam’s seat. Dean couldn’t suppress the agonising thought that he was being abandoned for the second time that day.

“With Michael in the Cage I’m sure it’s total anarchy up there,” Cas explained softly.

Dean scoffed, the sound broken and painful in the confined space. “So what, you’re the new Sheriff in town?” he spat.

Cas - the fucking asshole - had the audacity to almost smile. A sad, broken approximation of a smile but a smile none the less. “I like that,” he said. “Yeah, I suppose I am.”

And Dean saw red.

He slammed his foot on the brake with the full force of his body behind it, causing the Impala to swerve into a skid as she hit the shoulder of the highway. Dean hardly cared, barely taking a moment to wave Bobby on past them out the window before he turned on the angel in his passenger seat.

“So that’s it?” He shouted hoarsely. “God gives you a brand new, shiny set of wings and suddenly you’re his bitch again?!”

If the sudden stop had rattled Cas he wasn’t showing it - his eyes calm and a little bit sad as they looked back at him. Dean suddenly wanted to punch him, a pastime that he knew from experience was going to do absolutely no good with the damn angel all powered up again. And so Dean turned and pushed open his door, staggering out into the darkness in an effort to make his head stop pounding. Cas appeared before him a second later, the familiar rustle of feathers battering the night only making Dean more furious.

“What? You too good for doors now?” he snarled, fists clenching at his side as Cas glanced back to the passenger side door he’d failed to use - almost as though he was surprised he hadn’t.

“Dean I-”

“Save it,” Dean spat. “You’re fucking pathetic, you know that? After everything that’s happened - after everything -” Dean suddenly couldn’t speak, throat closing dangerously as he glared at Cas. Cas who was saying goodbye; Cas who was leaving him - just like every god-damn other person in his life. Punching angels had been proven to hurt - even so, Dean didn’t quite know what made him think to spin and put his fist through the back window of the Impala instead.

The glass bit deep, slicing his hand to ribbons and for a full, insane moment Dean relished the pain before suddenly Cas was there, his touch soft as he covered Dean’s broken hand with his own. The pulse of healing warmth was unsurprising but wholly infuriating at the same time. He couldn’t even have this?

“I don’t know what God wants,” Cas murmured softly, his voice low and close but Dean couldn’t bring himself to look up. He knew if he did he’d see the pity in the damn angel’s too-blue eyes. “I don’t know if he’ll even return,” Cas continued. “I just… this seems like the right thing to do.”

Dean couldn’t have stopped his sardonic huff if he’d tried. “Seems like what he wants, you mean,” he retorted, raising his eyes finally and settling a challenging glare on Cas before him - daring him to deny it.

Cas looked away first - perhaps the first real human action he’d performed since being returned whole and angelic in the bone-yard. And Dean couldn’t even bring himself to relish the victory. Not when it felt so intensely like he was losing too.

“I…” Cas started haltingly before raising his eyes again, something in the look cutting straight into Dean’s chest. “I would like to see you again…”

And just like that the fury was back, more intense than before because now there was an added familiar pain to it. People left - they always left. And every goddamn time they thought it was easy; that they’d always be able to come back - like the fact they were tearing Dean to pieces as they walked away didn’t matter as long as they had a free pass to return when they liked.

Dean didn’t even realise his hand was still in Cas’s until he was ripping it away, spinning his back to the angel. The words were said before he even thought about it. “You leave now don’t you dare think you can come back,” he bit out harshly, his grip painful and unyielding on the Impala’s roof.

The moment following the declaration seemed to stretch into infinity. An infinity that saw any number of protests run through Dean’s head. _Don’t go. Don’t leave. I need this… I need...._

Then Dean heard the wings. And the only thing that kept him from sliding to the ground was the Impala, steady and cold under his hands.


	12. Dodge

Dean headed to Lisa’s. He had no idea why – he only knew that staying at Bobby’s was unthinkable. A place where he and Sam had spent so much time together... No. Out of the question. Missouri too was off his list, if only because Dean didn’t think he’d be able to handle her particular brand of truth right then.

Once upon a time Lisa had been… well, what he'd thought of as his happily ever after. It had been a sappy, ridiculous notion but one that he’d clung to through some of his darkest hours. She and Ben were what he had imagined normal life for him might have been like. Then he’d taken his first bite of the most awesome blueberry pie on EARTH and unwittingly taken his first steps down the road to wanting something very, very far from any kind of normal.

But then that had turned out to be just as much of a damn fantasy.

Ben and Lisa were… safe. They knew nothing about what had happened and had never met Cas. He wouldn’t be forced to talk about the apocalypse and all the accompanying bullshit and he could just… God, he didn’t even know - he just knew that he didn’t want to be alone.

Lisa, fucking wonderful person that she was, welcomed him into her home with open arms. The offer of a beer quickly turned into an offer of a couch to crash on for a few days and before Dean knew it, he was picking Ben up after school and helping out around the house - doing odd jobs and various chores in an effort to not be a complete worthless lump. Staying busy was the key. When he kept himself distracted he didn’t have time to think.

Sam’s loss was a crushing weight on his chest. Every time he woke up it was there - smothering him like a hand around his heart. Cas… God, even the thought of Cas made Dean’s head pound with the same anger he’d thrown that night on the side of the road. His fury wasn’t abating, and while a part of him knew it wasn’t really fuelled by just anger, the rest of him was too busy stoking the flames. Because if he allowed himself to feel what was really behind all the heat he wasn’t going to survive.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t so much Lisa that helped keep him afloat - not that the woman wasn’t awesome incarnate, seriously. In Dean’s book, she was right up there with Mother Theresa. The number of times he’d been pulled back from dark thoughts by the press of a cold beer in his hand and a pointless, funny story from her days as a yoga instructor were getting difficult to count. But no - in the end it was Ben who did him the most good.

The kid was, by some miracle, exactly what Dean needed at the end of it all. His brash youth and unwillingness to let Dean brood were, quite often, the only things that got Dean through the day. Then Ben had introduced him to Stu.

Stu was the next door neighbour. A grizzled old guy with Bobby’s fashion sense and hair like he started his morning by sticking his finger in a wall socket. He also had a wit to rival Dean himself back before the world had ripped most of his humour from him. All of this would have made Dean admire Stu for sure - but what really elevated the old grouch to godhood was the fact he was restoring a 1973 Dodge Charger. It was like his Baby’s little sister was being built in the garage next door.

Stu had taken one look at the rapture on Dean’s face and made a lot of noise about the fact it was taking him so damn long to finish her. “If only I had another pair of hands,” he’d bemoaned pointedly, and even Ben had scoffed at the obviousness of it.

“You’re paying me in beer,” Dean had said simply.

And thus his routine was set. Dean would get up in the mornings early enough to make Lisa and Ben breakfast while Lisa packed Ben’s lunch (she still didn’t trust him after the day Dean had sent Ben away with a lunchbox full of chocolate with an instruction to swap with the other kids for something healthy). Once Ben and Lisa left for work and school he’d odd-job it around the house ‘til ten to give Stu time to down his heart-attack inducing four cups of coffee of the morning before heading next door. He’d made the mistake of turning up earlier once and had discovered there WAS in fact one other person in creation who was less of a morning person than Sam… than Sam had been...

Working on the car was easy. Dean spent his days up to his elbows in grease and machine parts and with every black, streaky stain he added to his t-shirt he felt a part of himself loosen. He wasn’t okay – not by a long shot – but he was surviving. Making it through the days, one hour at a time. Some days were harder than others. Such a one was the day his cell had rung and he’d picked up to a strange yet familiar voice on the other end.

* * *

“Dean? Dean Winchester?” the voice said and Dean frowned, aiming the dishcloth into the sink across the kitchen.

“Yeah, who’s this?”

“Jimmy - Jimmy Novak.”

Dean sat down very suddenly. It was only sheer luck that the kitchen chair was behind him.

“Look I uh… I heard about your brother and… well, I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Jimmy continued as Dean struggled to keep breathing. He’d known - logically he’d known that Cas was gone but it was one thing to think it and another to have living, talking proof of it. Jimmy’s voice bore only a vague resemblance to Cas’s and for that Dean was glad - he had no idea what he would have done if he’d had to talk to Cas’s vessel with Cas’s same voice.

“Uh… thanks,” he finally managed to force out, pinching the bridge of his nose in an effort to keep his voice level. “You’re back with your family?”

“Yeah, I am. They were surprised to see me.” Dean listened as Jimmy huffed a wry laugh. “Can’t say I blame them.”

Neither could Dean. After their last parting he had no doubt that Jimmy’s wife had expected never to see her husband again. By all intents and purposes she shouldn’t have. But Sam had pulled a rabbit out of a damn hat and God had juiced Cas enough for him to put Jimmy’s body back together, obviously - give the vessel another chance at life. Even with everything he’d lost, Dean was kinda glad that something of the whole mess had worked out for someone, even if the feeling was a little bitter. He told Jimmy so (omitting the bitter part, of course) before they hung up.

Then he buried his face in his hands and didn’t come up for air for a good long while.

* * *

It was his second week in and two days after the call from Jimmy that Dean started to talk to Stu. About Sammy and his Dad at first, then his mom and finally, one day after many, many beers he’d started to talk about demons and angels and all the other fucked up supernatural shit in the world.

There was no doubting that Stu thought Dean was nuts and yet somehow the old man appeared to take this in stride. He didn’t judge; didn’t scoff or roll his eyes - he just listened. And strangely enough, the fact that he didn’t believe a word that came out of Dean’s mouth seemed to make the words flow even freer. Dean told him everything. About Yellow-eyes, Lilith and the Apocalypse. He talked about Sam, Michael and Zachariah. In the end, there was just the one thing he consistently failed to mention.

Cas.

And then, by some fucked up twist of fate - Stu himself managed to bring the damn angel up.

* * *

“So who’s running heaven?” the old man asked, bottle of beer dangling from his fingertips as he reclined in his customary fold-up chair on the driveway. Dean froze with his own bottle halfway to his lips. He’d been taking a five minute break - sprawled in the brother of Stu’s own chair across from him and soaking up the sun. Stu’s words though sent something cold skittering down his spine.

“Huh?” he asked, stalling.

“Heaven,” the old man repeated. “God’s a no-show and Michael’s in that cage thing. Who’s running things now?”

Dean would perpetually find it weird that the man could be so damn astute while not really believing a word he was saying. It was like the world’s best role-player was sitting across from him, humouring what he thought was psychosis but doing it in such a way that Dean couldn’t possibly get annoyed with it. Of course the guy had never asked anything that required Dean to bring up… him.

“Cas,” he said, shocking himself with the sound of his own voice. It was the first time he’d said Cas’s name out loud since... God, he didn't even remember. Clearing his throat he glanced up at Stu’s questioning look. “Castiel,” he repeated, the full name sounding foreign on his tongue. “He’s an angel. One of the… less dickish ones.”

“He your friend?” Stu asked, curious.

Dean swigged a mouthful of beer to try and distract himself but only ended up succeeding in remembering the the night he and Cas had shared a bottle. Glancing down at his hand Dean bitterly noted it was even the same friggin’ brand.

“Something like that,” he answered quietly. “He… he went back, though,” he explained, bullying his voice into something approaching casualness and slightly failing as the next words left his mouth. “I won’t be seeing him again.”

“But you want to,” Stu noted beside him. It wasn’t a question, which was bad enough. Worse was that Dean couldn’t deny it.

* * *

It was a bad day. Dean had awoken to a gnawing at his chest. The gaping hole left by his brother’s loss was a constant companion but he'd re-opened a fresh wound yesterday. Cas. Damn it. He shouldn’t have mentioned anything. It was like just saying the goddamn angel’s name had brought everything to the forefront - the pain and anger; betrayal and something like…

No. He wasn’t doing this. He’d forget - he’d forget just like he’d been trying to since that night that seemed like eons ago. Because Cas was gone. And he wasn’t coming back. Just like Sam.

Dean had staggered through his morning on autopilot, only slightly burning the bacon but earning himself a worried look from Lisa for it nonetheless. When Ben and Lisa had finally left he’d collapsed into a seat at the kitchen table, head in his hands as he tried to still the shuddering in his shoulders.

It took him a moment to realise it wasn’t just his body doing the shaking.

He looked up sharply just as the microwave blew itself out, the sky darkening outside the window as unnatural clouds rolled across the sun. It was all very friggin’ melodramatic. Dean wasn’t even surprised when the first flash of lightning set the room alight - throwing a man shaped shadow across the wall in front of him.

Dean sighed as he pulled himself to his feet, turning to face the intruder. Raphael glared back. “You don’t write, you don’t call…” Dean remarked sarcastically, a flash of his old humour returning despite himself. It had to be an angel thing - the dicks always seemed to bring it out in him.

“You destroyed everything,” Raphael accused, something in his voice reverberating in Dean’s very bones - just like it had the first time they’d met. Dean couldn't deny that being faced with that kind of power was more than a little unnerving. Even so...

“Actually, it’s the other way around,” Dean said flippantly. “Destroying was taken off the menu.”

Dean didn’t flinch when the lightning arced once more, etching the fury on Raphael’s face into black and white. When he spoke again, the archangel’s voice scraped across Dean’s skin like razor-wire. “My brother is in the Cage-”

Dean scoffed harshly, because seriously? “I’m weeping for you, really,” he spat bitterly, uncaring when Raphael’s eyes narrowed and the room shook. Dean rolled his eyes. “You want to kill me?” he sighed. “Go for it. I got nothin’ left anyway.”

They were the words Dean had been struggling not to say out loud. He’d known if he did then he would lose the battle he’d been having with himself; the battle he only continued to fight because Sammy - stupid, fucking stubborn Sammy - had made him promise. But now they were out. And as Raphael glared at him Dean couldn’t help but feel… relief. Icy and painful but oh so fucking sweet…

“If you think I will make this swift, then you are sorely mistaken,” Raphael growled, his voice carrying with it an edge of oath as he stalked forward. “I’m going to tear apart your very soul.”

And Dean grinned then, actually fucking grinned, the feeling foreign and twisted on his face. “Bring it, Chuckles.”

Raphael reached for him. And Dean didn’t know why or how but the last thing he heard as Raphael’s hand closed on his arm was a gravelly voice, familiar and sweetly painful in his ear - a voice straight out of memory. _Close your eyes…_ And because Dean had obviously lost it - completely and utterly - he did.

The violent, white light that filled the room a second later hit him with an almost physical jolt, and Dean thought that if this was what Raphael had meant by torture then he was obviously off his game. There was no denying the power of it - complete and absolute, but there was also something to the sensation… something so painfully _right_ …

Dean didn’t realise Raphael was screaming in fury until the hand on his arm was ripped away and then, as quickly as it had come, the light was gone. Dean blinked his eyes open long seconds later, gaze taking in the empty kitchen.

And the weight of what had happened, when it hit him, sent him to his knees.

* * *

Castiel was the new sheriff in Heaven, it was true. But unlike a sheriff, his office was not even remotely western. Instead he now landed in a perfect recreation of the mountain peaks of the Himalayas - just as he’d envisioned it. The wide, deep furrow Raphael’s form made in the snow as Castiel threw him down was very satisfying.

“How DARE you -” Raphael began, true form blazing with wrath as he rose to his feet. And he was fearsome - Castiel had not been exaggerating when he’d explained to Dean all those months ago that archangels were Heaven’s most terrifying weapon. But that was then.

“Do not fight me,” Castiel commanded darkly. “You will not win.”

He watched as Raphael faltered a moment, his true face darkening as he took in the truth of Castiel’s words. Castiel knew what he saw. Power - entire, unadulterated and utterly unsurpassed. The new sheriff was a force to rival most anything in creation.

“You look like your vessel,” Raphael spat. Castiel glanced down at his true form - much changed from what it had once been. It was true - his angelic form now looked as Jimmy Novak did - complete with tan trench-coat and thread-bare tie. Angels were not physical; not solid as humans were - their true forms shifted with their own perceptions of themselves. Raphael’s shape, for instance, was as fearsome as the very being - tall, unyielding and shining - terrifying in his brightness. Castiel’s appearance was pathetic by comparison, he knew, but in a way he enjoyed the contrast.

Castiel shrugged, enjoying the feel of it. “I do,” he conceded. “My perceptions are much changed by my time on Earth.” Raphael scoffed and Castiel’s eyes narrowed. “I see yours are not.”

“Our brother rots in the Cage and you sully his memory by protecting the one who put him there,” the archangel accused, only to flinch as Castiel’s power flared white hot.

“You will not harm Dean Winchester,” Castiel growled, trying and failing to fully control his wrath. The world around him shook with it; a manifestation of his own turbulent grace. It was… disturbing. Castiel prided himself on his control - his time since returning to Heaven had been a test of it again and again but he'd never failed; never slipped. Until now.

Until Dean.

It was wholly and utterly shocking. Castiel had thought that with his return to Heaven would come the return of the certainty; the cold sureness that had been his constant support through the initial age of his existence. And while he had admitted to himself that he would miss certain aspects of humanity, would miss... But no. That path was closed to him – had been closed to him with furious, bitter words. 

Castiel had accepted his role - had accepted that God’s will seemed to dictate this sacrifice.

And he’d thought he’d made it, thought that he was free of human emotion - free of the sweet pain and sensation. But then he’d seen Dean. Dean, who he hadn’t allowed himself to watch before now. It was only the massive power of Raphael streaking across the globe with murder in his heart that had pulled Castiel’s attention to earth once more, to the man that had turned him so thoroughly inside out.

Dean had been as broken and painfully beautiful as Castiel remembered. His very being shining with a sharp clarity as the man had grinned into the face of painful obliteration and welcomed it…

And it had been in that moment that Castiel had realised. The feelings hadn't left him, hadn’t faded. He had buried them with a very human desperation but one stray glance at Dean and everything came crashing to the surface once more. In that moment, Castiel found himself with a very intimate knowledge of why fallen angels never returned to the fold. If this sort of perception could follow you – if even the power of Heaven was not enough to burn it away…

“I can smell it on you,” Raphael hissed suddenly, pulling Castiel from his turbulent thoughts. “Pitiful human emotions. Weakness. Love.”

Love.

It was a foreign word in the celestial realm. Devotion, bliss, duty – angels knew these well. But never love. Love was a human word, a human sensation. It had nothing to do with obedience and everything to do with desire – selfish, human _want_. But just as surely as Castiel knew this, he could also feel that the word in this instance was inherently... true.

“You’re a disgrace,” Raphael spat but Castiel hardly heard him, eyes unseeing as his mouth curved upward. Because suddenly Castiel knew what he... yes, what he WANTED. The look of shock on Raphael’s face when he looked up - a very real grin set across his features was intensely amusing.

“I quit,” he said simply, almost laughing when Raphael’s mouth dropped open in a very un-angelic sort of way.

“What?” the archangel croaked incredulously.

“I’m going to indulge my-” Castiel’s eyes danced, “- my ‘pitiful human emotions’ for a while.”

Raphael looked like someone had slapped him in the face with a wet fish. “You - you can’t!” he blustered.

Castiel tipped his head, fixing the archangel with an amused stare. “Why not?”

For a handfull of seconds Raphael could only gape wide-eyed as he searched for a worthy answer. Castiel knew he wouldn’t find it. Heaven was stable - or as stable as it was going to get without God. Castiel’s work had been extensive but efficient. Lucifer was as trapped as Michael. There was no impending apocalypse; indeed no real fight at all as most of Earth’s demons were laying low or retreating to Hell in the aftermath of the short-circuited End. And, probably most importantly, Castiel was more powerful than any being in Heaven. He was top of the chain – even if heaven had still been chaos; even if he hadn't felt some sense of responsibility - nothing could have stopped him from leaving. 

You couldn’t defy orders when you were the one giving them.

Castiel watched as this realisation dawned across Raphael’s features and he smirked. "Exactly,” he said as he turned away. A beat passed as Castiel stretched his wings, preparing to take flight before he glanced back over his shoulder. “Touch Dean Winchester again and I _will_ destroy you.”

Raphael swallowed – a very human gesture, and Castiel thought that perhaps there was hope for his brother yet.

Then he flew.


	13. Choice

Dean shut the door of the motel with a careless kick, juggling the fast food bags and bottle of Jack in his arms before he could dump it all on the stained approximation of a kitchen bench in the corner.

It had been two days since Raphael’s little visit and Dean hadn’t been back to Lisa’s - unwilling to risk her and Ben should he get a visit from another angelic hit squad. Now that it had happened once he’d found himself kinda surprised someone hadn’t taken a swipe before. Then again, the symbols on his ribs were probably still working their mojo on most of ’em.

It begged the question of how the king dick of the archangels had found him in the first place. But whatever, Dean just figured his life sucked that way.

Fishing a few fries out of the greasy bag, he slumped against the bench, dragging the bottle of Jack towards him across the surface. It was one thing he hadn’t allowed himself to indulge at Lisa’s. With the exception of beer, he’d been almost painfully alcohol free while playing houseguest - unwilling to disrespect Lisa's hospitality like that. Not to mention, he never wanted Ben to remember him as the drunken greasemonkey reeking up his mother’s couch. He’d gotten damn well hammered with Stu a couple of times, but the old man had always offered him his own couch on those nights, often with a not so subtle tap of the side of his nose to show his understanding of Dean’s unspoken promise to himself. It had always wigged Dean out a little – that nose-tap.

And so tonight would be the first time since Sammy had taken the dive that Dean would get to properly drink himself under the table in solitude. A melodramatic part of him was looking forward to it. Of course, he never even got the seal cracked before the familiar sound of wings had him gripping the bottle so hard he could have sworn his knuckles creaked. Because he already knew it wasn’t Raphael. He could fucking _feel_ it.

“Hello Dean,” Cas said, and Dean very nearly gave into the desire to smack his head down on the bench-top.

"D'ya reckon you could come back in, oh, say -" Dean eyed at the bottle in front of him speculatively, making a show of gauging its contents, "- half an hour?"

“No.”

Dean sighed as he turned around, finally raising his eyes. Cas was standing in the middle of the motel room - solid and real and painfully, painfully familiar. As Dean watched, the angel turned his head, taking in their slightly seedy surroundings. It wasn’t one of the best rooms Dean had ever stayed in, but it was all he’d been able to afford with his last fake card. A part of him was a little indignant that Cas seemed to be judging it.

It wasn’t until Cas turned his all too blue eyes back on him that Dean realised what was wrong with the picture before him. “You fucking asshole,” he accused. Cas tilted his head in that way that made Dean want to punch him. Definitely punch. Nothing else. "I thought you let the poor bastard have his body back." Dean waved a hand down to the angel’s vessel.

Castiel followed his gesture, tugging at the damn coat with an almost fond familiarity that Dean didn’t really know what to make of. "I did,” Cas said simply, looking up. “This is not the body of Jimmy Novak."

Dean snorted, pulling the bottle towards him again mostly just for something to do. "Looks a hell of a lot like him."

He watched Cas’s eyes follow his hands as he twisted the top off the Jack and tried and failed not to remember the last time those eyes had watched him so closely.

"I had it made,” Cas explained as Dean took his first swig. “From the base components of Jimmy's physical body."

Dean couldn’t help it – his eyes widened. And he totally did not choke a little on his drink fuckyouverymuch. “You freaking cloned him?”

Cas looked down again, flexing one hand in a way that made Dean shift slightly. “I believe that is the technical term, yes,” the angel replied nonchalantly - like he wasn’t talking about something out of a science fiction movie. “He gave me permission,” he added, looking up.

Dean closed his mouth. So what if that was going to be his next point of argument. Fuck it. "And you couldn't just clone him before, because…?" he demanded, because hell, he needed something to aim all this friggin' anger at.

"It was against the rules.”

Dean didn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. "And now?"

"Now, I am the rules," Cas answered, voice low and gravelly and everything Dean would never admit to missing. Dean took another swig to cover his surprise at that statement - practically feeling Cas’s gaze burning across him. The hot familiarity of it was stifling; perfect and suffocating in equal parts and all of the sudden Dean couldn’t do it. The banter; the flippancy… he was just… he was just so damn tired.

“What are you doing here, Cas?” Dean asked, subdued and much wearier than he’d intended. But the hell with it; the sooner Cas did what came for, the sooner Dean would be left to his Jack and the sooner he could get back to pretending a certain angel didn't exist because it was too goddamn hard to do anything else.

"I…” Cas started, and something in his voice made Dean look up despite himself. He wasn’t expecting to see the little Cas-approximation of a smile on the angel’s features. It was almost like a punch to the gut. “How would you say it?” Cas continued, fixing him with a sure gaze. “I… resigned."

Dean’s brain tripped over itself. “You - huh?”

He watched as Cas wandered towards him - blessedly stopping a few feet away to lean against the bench himself because Dean didn’t think he’d be able to handle any sort of hardcore proximity right now.

“I have left Heaven for the time being,” Cas explained, and Dean wanted to throttle him for his tone – casual, unconcerned, like he was discussing the damn weather and not the ultimate rebellion. Again.

"Won't God be pissed at you?" Dean heard himself ask, feeling slightly blown away again when Cas’s answer was another small smile as the angel stared down at the tiling beneath his feet - like grout held all the freaking answers.

"More than likely," Cas agreed and Dean couldn’t help it - he scoffed.

"And you're okay with that?" he asked incredulously.

The smile disappeared and suddenly Dean was watching a stubborn determination cross the angel’s features - an expression he hadn’t seen since Cas had been spitting blood, a horseman gloating over him.

"After all I have done, I deserve this choice,” the angel said resolutely, steely gaze on the grout. “I deserve to have what I want."

The words were dropping from Dean’s lips before they’d really checked in with his brain first. "And what's that?"

Cas looked up, fixing him with a look that spoke… everything. Dean found his breath hitching slightly as he gripped the bench behind him.

"I think you know,” Cas said plainly. And it was too much - after everything. God he’d left; he’d left…

Dean didn’t realise he’d squeezed his eyes closed until he felt a warm grip cover his own on the bottle at his side and he sucked in a breath at the sudden closeness. A gentle tug had the bottle out of his grip; a light clank told Dean that it had been relocated to the bench, followed a moment later by warm fingers tracing down his jaw.

“Dean, I -” A hesitation. “Please open your eyes.” Cas’s voice was low and soft and right. Goddamn. _There_.

For a full second Dean struggled with himself before he surrendered and complied.

Cas was closer than he’d thought. The heat of him was like a physical touch; his gaze deep and blue and making something twist sharply in Dean’s chest. “You fucking left,” he whispered harshly, damning his voice for its broken accusation. Cas's fingertips found that damn spot on the back of his neck and Dean felt his breath stutter again.

“I came back," the angel countered, tone intimate and very, very real.

And it was the one answer that cut the deepest; it should have had Dean raging. It would have... except then Cas was leaning into him, breath hot on his mouth as his eyes slid shut...

The first touch of lips was light, almost chaste - like the damn angel was asking permission. And in a way, Dean realised, he was. He was being given a choice, just like Cas had always goddamn promised. He could pull away - distance himself. He could stick to his guns, insist Cas fuck off and never come back. It would be so easy to let the anger have free reign. So damn easy...

He could have his pride. He could have his fury. He could be safe. Or he could trip over whatever the fuck this feeling was building in his chest and fall.

Ridiculously enough, in that split second of uncertainty it was an unbidden memory that made the decision for him. One of Sam, his brother's face a mask of well worn exasperation at any one of Dean's many, many antics. Dean couldn't even really remember the exact circumstances of this one - it was so common.

_“Don't be an idiot, Dean.”_

So... Dean wasn't.

His hands found their familiar grip on the collar of Cas’s coat and Dean pulled, forcing their bodies flush as he opened his mouth under the angel’s and Jesus fucking Christ it was the best feeling in the world just tasting him again.

* * *

Castiel had worried. After the initial sweet realisation of his feelings, after he’d spread his wings and flown towards earth, had come the uncertainty. Dean had told him not to come back. Bitter, black words that had cut Castiel deep at the time - that still did. It was one thing to realise his own desires, but he was loathe to press them on an unwilling recipient.

He’d meant to ask in words - give the question clear meaning - but the sight of Dean, bitter and in pain and knowing Castiel himself had caused it all… He’d needed the touch – a desire that had surprised him with its fierceness. The kiss had been the question - the choice. Gently given and taking all his strength to keep it that way. But he had promised.

And Dean had chosen.

With hands and mouth and a singular determination Dean had chosen and Castiel had never felt anything so very incredible. He could perhaps be forgiven for not realising they’d made it across the room until he felt the back of his legs hit the bed.

Dean pressed him into the mattress with an almost violent urgency; mouth, teeth, touch – all claiming him with a ferocity that should have given Castiel pause. Instead, each painful grip, each bite a hair’s breadth from breaking skin just seemed to drive him higher.

The sharp edge of pain in such acts as a human had been thrilling – he remembered clearly the sensation of Dean marking him in front of the mirror in Bobby's ramshackle bathroom. As an angel, though, it was something... more. The sharpness, the thrill was still there but it was _Dean's_ feeling, _Dean's_ need behind the actions that struck him with the most force.

Castiel gasped into Dean's touch – blunt fingernails making tracks down pale flesh.

Dean was skating a razor's edge of emotion. Pain, passion, fury, need, and something deeper... The feelings broke over Castiel with a singular intensity. He had worried that he wouldn't be able to experience intimacy as humans did, wouldn't be able to revel in the violence of the sensations. He'd never expected to be not only wrong, but to have his increased grace add a whole new element to it. Dean was the emotional equivalent of a siren in the moment and Castiel couldn't have silenced him if he'd wanted to. With every touch, every kiss he was drowning a little bit more – and by Heaven he never wanted to resurface.

Somewhere in the melee Dean had managed to divest Castiel of half of his clothing. It was only as Dean leaned back to yank his own t-shirt over his head that Castiel realised he was in such a state. His coat and jacket were gone, leaving him in the crisp button down shirt that wasn't so very buttoned now that he noticed. His tie was nowhere to be seen. The only item of clothing that seemed to have escaped the onslaught seemed to be his pants – something that became a moot point a moment later when Dean leaned over him, scraping his teeth over one pale hip bone as his hands made quick work of the belt.

Castiel hissed at the sensation – a sound that turned into a broken moan a moment later as Dean proved once more that he was much faster at buttons and zippers than Castiel could ever hope to be. “D-Dean... ah!”

Dean's touch was sure and deliciously hard and those hands... by Heaven, how had Castiel ever thought he could live without those hands?

Castiel arched off the bed at a particularly deft stroke only to bite back what might have been a whimper a moment later when the touch abandoned him. He looked up in time to see Dean shuck off his jeans before leaning down and yanking off Cas’s shoes, one by one. His own pants were next and Castiel revelled slightly in the ridiculousness of an angel of the Lord having to lift his hips so as to allow pinstriped undergarments to be yanked off.

And then Dean was over him – on him – skin hot and brash and oh so delicious as he ground downwards. Their bodies fit together with a familiar slide of intensity and Castiel moaned as Dean's mouth claimed his once more – lips and tongue working to make him lose all rational thought. And for a time he did - world condensed down to touch and breath and skin. And while Castiel lost himself in the sensation he knew instinctively that Dean wanted more - it was in every rough touch; every determined press of hips… It wasn't until Dean fisted one hand in Castiel’s shirt that they somehow still hadn't managed to lose and growled into his neck that Castiel felt the pause – the frustration. It took only a cursory brush of Dean's mind to find the source.

“You won't damage me,” Castiel told him, voice gone one side of wrecked. He didn't say it wouldn't hurt – because it would. But in a way he wanted it to – he wanted the intensity. He wanted the sense of sacrifice because Dean - no matter what the man himself thought of the matter - Dean deserved it. And then, because Dean still hesitated, Castiel moved for him.

The trickle of grace he used to ease the way only slightly dulled the sudden burn as Castiel shifted, pulling Dean into him. Whatever pain there was though was drowned very quickly in the crash of emotion from the man above him - Castiel found himself gasping at the strength of it.

“C-Cas-” Dean’s voice staggered and Castiel silenced him with a kiss - reassuring with a hot, slow slide of tongues. It was a language Dean seemed to grasp quickly. When Castiel shifted, rocking slightly Dean took the cue for what it was and picked up the rhythm. And nothing, nothing had ever felt so right for Castiel as the feel of Dean like this.

The burn of friction was easily soothed with another slight push of grace and Castiel watched as Dean’s eyes blew wide at the sensation, his hips staggering in their rhythm slightly. But only for a moment. Heat bled into Dean’s gaze as he shifted them, hitching one hand under Castiel's knee and Castiel arched off the bed at the first hard, deep thrust. "Ah!”

Castiel's grip found the headboard almost automatically as Dean set a hard, driving rhythm. It was a feeling unlike anything Castiel had ever experienced. With each brutal thrust, each broken grunt Dean claimed him and it was all Castiel could do to hold on against the tide. Because he had to. Because Dean needed this, Castiel felt it - he needed to mark and thrust and affirm, in the basest of senses. He needed to take control. And Castiel would let him. Because Castiel needed Dean.

That every driving thrust was working Castiel towards flying apart was just an unexpected benefit.

Castiel didn’t realise how close he was to the edge of control until Dean shifted slightly in mid-thrust and something deep inside flashed pleasure, unadulterated and sharp through his vessel. The headboard splintered in his grip and he gasped a ragged moan as he felt his bound wings flex against their confinement.

It was not something he had foreseen. Coming apart as a mortal had been release, perfect and passionate. Coming apart as an angel - losing that kind of control - it would be dangerous. But there was no stopping, no going back. The feel of Dean’s fingers digging into his flesh was proof enough of that. Castiel arched off the bed again at a particularly well-aimed snap of Dean’s hips. “D-Dean… ah! Dean – close your eyes…”

Castiel’s voice seemed to hit Dean like a physical force, sending a shudder through his frame, and before Castiel could react Dean was pitching forward, his mouth capturing his own in a hard kiss. Dean's orgasm hit them both, its intensity driving Castiel over the edge with him. Castiel only had a second to hope that Dean had followed his instructions before his wings ripped free of his control and he gasped as he came. And the feel of it - the intense, heady release was exquisite. 

Castiel was left panting in the aftermath, savouring the heat of Dean where he had collapsed bodily onto him - face buried in Castiel’s neck. It was an automatic gesture to wrap first his arms and then his wings around Dean’s quaking form. The slight jump then soft groan from Dean as Castiel's feathers slid across the man’s back was a surprise.

“You can feel that?” Castiel asked softly, flexing the feathers of one wing across Dean’s skin. 

A renewed shudder was enough answer but Dean nodded into his neck anyway. “Mmhmm,” Dean murmured, voice thick and sated. “What is it?”

“My wings,” Castiel replied, and it was only his reflexes that kept Dean’s vision intact as the man jerked away, apparently to stare down at him incredulously. Castiel made the act a bit difficult by covering Dean's eyes with one hand.

Dean huffed. “I can feel them but I’m not allowed to look at them?”

“They are a manifestation of my true form,” Castiel explained. “It would hurt you to look upon them.”

Even with his hand covering Dean’s eyes Castiel could feel the man rolling them.

“Of course it would,” Dean huffed, and Castiel felt a tug of affection as he reigned in his power, re-binding his wings before moving his hand. Dean blinked down at him, face debauched and - for a split second before he could school it - utterly open. In that moment Castiel had never felt so sure of anything as he was of this; of this between them.

Something of the sentiment must have shown on Castiel's face because Dean's eyes slid from his, a slight flush rising on his neck and Castiel very nearly laughed at the thought of Dean blushing at anything, let alone following an act as carnal as that they'd just indulged. The kiss he pulled Dean down into was languid and deep - an affirmation of the feeling even now throbbing behind his ribs.

Long moments later they lay quietly together, Castiel revelling in the puff of Dean’s breath across his bare chest as his fingers carded soothingly through the man’s hair. Dean lay sprawled half on top of him as he dozed – almost as if he was instinctively trying to make sure Castiel couldn't go anywhere. It would have amused Castiel if the slight desperation in it weren't so apparent.

Dean was not a creature of words, Castiel knew, but in this case he didn't have to be.

Castiel had hurt Dean, more than he'd realised. In hindsight, of course, it was obvious. Castiel knew Dean had a deep-seated fear of abandonment - one circumstances seemed eternally and cruelly destined to perpetuate. People came and left and every time Dean's very soul chafed a little bit more. Castiel could see now that Sam's departure had been slowly destroying him from the inside out. What he hadn't anticipated was that his own absence would do almost as much damage.

Human emotions may have been a strange and mysterious creature to him, but even Castiel could see he had work to do to gain back the trust he'd unknowingly torn. And he would. Because the one thing he was absolutely certain of in this situation was that Dean was worth it.

Castiel was pulled out of his musings a minute later when Dean broke the silence. “So. You’re choosing me over Heaven,” Dean commented – obviously trying to be casual but his voice flirting with discomfort nonetheless. Castiel almost smiled, knowing how dearly it would have cost Dean to get up the courage to say such a thing.

“No,” Castiel declared, swiping one thumb across the sweet spot at the back of Dean's neck - enjoying the feel as Dean stretched against him in response. “I’m choosing me over Heaven.”

He felt Dean pause against him before a rumble of laughter spread through their skin. “You’re nuts.”

Castiel felt himself grin into the darkness.

“I’m free.”

* * *

Dean awoke some time later to cooling sheets, the bed too big and empty around him, and for a split second he felt a moment of panic before he registered the sound of the shower. For some stupid reason the realisation that Cas was indulging in his much-loved hot showers again made him smile into the darkness as he stretched, feeling well-worked muscles tug nicely under the movement.

He should have felt strange, self-conscious even. Last night had been... intense. The feeling of Cas beneath him, around him – surrendering to him in the most intimate of ways... It should have been weird. But while he felt slightly chagrined by his very obvious loss of control he couldn't seem to muster up the appropriate awkwardness to go with it. Because after months of numbness - deep and gnawing - he felt...

Real.

He wasn't kidding himself. There was no way this...this whatever-the-hell-it-was was going to last. He'd been around too long and had been through too much to fool himself into thinking this warmth in his chest was going to be anything but fleeting. It would be ripped from him just like everything else in the damn world. But for now – just for now – he would enjoy it.

In a way, that was more of a freaking miracle than the feeling itself. Not too long ago Dean hadn't thought himself capable of such abandonment; feeling for the sake of feeling – not anymore.

“Dude, you're such a friggin’ pessimist.”

Dean froze. Because no. Just no. He spun, the sheets tangling around his middle as he jammed himself bodily against the headboard and stared wide-eyed at...at...

Sam grinned at him from the end of the bed. And it was all there – every detail. Right down to the way he'd jammed his giant man-hands into his jacket pockets as he jiggled back on his heels. Dean wanted to throw up. “You're not Sam,” he choked.

The not-Sam's eyes crinkled, painfully familiar. “True – sort of,” he conceded. “But I'm not who you think either.”

Then very suddenly, with a faint beat of wings Cas was at the side of the bed. He was soaked, obviously having transported straight from the shower - though, Dean noticed, he’d had the forethought to whammy some sweat-pants onto himself at least.

Dean watched with a numb sort of shock as Cas growled - actually growled - as he stalked a step towards the Sam impostor, shoulders tensed and obviously ready for a fight. Then the not-Sam flicked his gaze to the angel and… smiled. Not a smirk; not a triumphant grin - this was an honest to God, genuine, welcoming smile. Cas jerked like he'd just run into a brick wall before practically falling into a seat on the side of the bed.

The fuck?

“Hello Castiel,” the not-Sam said, his voice light and… fond?

Castiel actually started to shake. “Father.”

Dean’s eyes just about popped out of his head. Holy mother of - well… “Father?” he asked incredulously when it became apparent Cas wasn’t capable of words. “Father, as in ‘our holy’?”

Sam’s - well, apparently, _God’s_ eyes turned back to him and Dean found himself faced with the weight of the smile. Must have been the face wearing it, though, because it didn’t seem to floor him as completely as it had Cas.

“Got it in one,” God congratulated, sounding so painfully like Sam it made Dean’s hands clench in the sheets.

“Mind telling me why you’re wearing my brother’s face?” Dean growled. Somewhere in the back of his mind a little voice reminded him that he was talking to God and should probably be showing a little more respect. But then a louder voice, the one that had lived through the pain and torment of the last two years told it to shut its cake-hole. Dean saw out of the corner of his eye that Cas seemed to go a little more rigid at his words, shooting him a quelling look, but Dean ignored him - watching instead as God chuckled.

“It’s the only one he has?” the damn deity quipped, like the shit was some kind of inside joke. When Dean didn’t let up on his scowl, God sighed. “This is Sam,” he explained. “I’m just… hitching a ride, so to speak.”

Dean gaped. “You’re hitching a-” he stopped, brain working at a furious pace as he tried to process what the words meant. Sam was alive. Sam was here. Sam was…. “My brother's possessed by God?”

“Just temporarily,” God assured. “I just needed him out of the way long enough.”

“Long enough for what?” Cas suddenly said, voice still mildly stunned but regaining a thread of his old gravel. Dean glanced at Cas to see he seemed to have pulled himself together a bit, frowning as he looked up at his Father.

The look God turned on Cas then was one of utmost… pride. Dean recognised the expression from those few moments he'd managed to impress Sammy with something sufficiently chick-flicky. “For you, stupid,” God said fondly.

Dean felt his eyebrows hit his hairline. It didn’t hold a candle to the look of confusion on Cas’s face, though.

God laughed, seeming to be having a great deal of fun with the conversation. “Oh kid, do you have any idea at all how utterly awesome you are?”

Dean flicked his gaze to Cas again to see the angel's frown deepen, even as God continued.

“I tell ya too – you came out of left field,” the deity enthused. “I thought it'd be Anna. Hell, even Uriel was on the right track before the whole flock to the Devil thing-”

Yeah okay, Dean was officially lost and he didn't even have to look at Cas's face to know he wasn't the only one. “What the hell are you talking about?” he interrupted.

God's focus switched back to him and Dean blinked at the look of utter happiness adorning Sam's features. It was almost a slap to the face, realising how long it'd been – even before Sam's death – since he'd seen that look.

“I'm talking about choice,” God supplied simply, like that was all the damn answer they needed.

Dean glared until the deity continued. “Angels were my first children,” God started, turning that damn fondness back on Cas – like rainbows were shining out of his ass or something. “And they are beautiful - full of grace.” A sigh and a familiar raking of a hand through girly, boy-band hair. “But I made my mistakes – just like any first-time parent. My biggest one – obedience.”

Dean noticed as Cas's eyebrows hit his scruffy hairline at that.

“It's hard-wired in there – right down at soul level,” God continued, voice heavy. “It's all well and good for a while – but eventually every baby bird needs to spread their wings and leave the nest - start making their own mistakes, their own choices. Angel's aren't capable of it – or rather, they didn't think themselves capable – not until now.” And then the proud smile was back, as God in a Sammy-suit beamed down at Cas. “Not until you.”

Dean frowned. “Funny – your 'children' seemed perfectly capable of making the choice to try and end the world not too long ago.”

God made a noise somewhere between a snort and a laugh, a sound Dean never would have associated with anything even remotely holy. “Teenagers, hey?” the deity said, a strained sort of flippancy in his voice and Dean suddenly wanted to punch him – Sam or no Sam. God cleared his throat. “Even so – they weren't following their own path – they were following mine – one I set down a very long time ago when I was a little more, well -” God chuckled a bit awkwardly, like a grown juvenile-delinquent looking back on his wild days, “ - wrathful.”

“And a little less absent,” Dean muttered.

“Dean,” Cas said, his voice ticking warningly, but somehow that only seemed to increase the anger bubbling in Dean's throat.

“No Cas – don't tell me you don't want fucking answers too,” Dean growled, never shifting his glare from God. “Where the hell were you? Why didn't you stop it?”

“My absence was necessary. They needed to learn-”

And Dean couldn't help the poison bark of laughter. “You sick fuck.”

“Dean!” Cas warned again and Dean ignored him.

“People were dying down here and you were trying to teach a goddamn lesson,” Dean accused. And yeah, so using the guy's own name in vain directly to his face was a little weird, but fuck it. “What about your other children, huh? What about the humans?”

Dean expected anger – maybe defensiveness. He never expected to have that damn look of pride suddenly turned his way.

“Humans, I've found, are surprisingly good at looking after themselves,” God replied.

Dean glowered, trying and failing to find an adequate comeback to that.

God continued, something in his borrowed eyes softening. “For what it’s worth, I never wanted it to be like this. The shit you’ve seen - what you’ve been through…” God sighed, rubbing the back of his borrowed neck in a gesture Dean thought was way too human for the supposed freaking Creator. “I don't envy the role you've had to play,” he continued. “Sammy either. I owe you - big time. And I know that bringing Sam back only pays a fraction of that debt but, well -” God spread his hands in a placating gesture, “- I had to try.”

Dean glared. Because the damn bastard had got only one thing slightly wrong: bringing Sam back was everything. And Dean got the feeling the fucker knew it too - he was just trying to be freaking _subtle_.

“You say I was the first to choose my own path?” Cas suddenly spoke up, and at God's nod continued. “You are incorrect.”

God blinked. And Dean sort of wanted to kiss Cas. Two years ago he never would have seen the angel standing face to face with his Holy Father and telling the damn bastard he was wrong.

“Gabriel chose well before me,” Cas explained. “He left Heaven.”

And then suddenly that motherfucking smile was back. “Ah, yes – Gabe,” God remarked ruefully, like a parent talking about a rambunctious teenager. “Gabriel did go his own way, it's true – but it was nowhere near healthy,” God explained. “He was running from something, not towards it. No, Cas – you’ll be the one that did this – you’ll affect this change.”

Dean snorted. Change. Lessons. So friggin’ typical. What the hell was in the water in Heaven that made everybody from there think they knew what was right for everyone else? Hell, even Cas still had it a bit - the difference with him was he allowed people a choice of the path they wanted to take, whether he thought it was the right one or not. Seemed he'd learned God's stupid lesson well before God had, in Dean's opinion. Speaking of…

“One thing I don't get,” Dean interrupted. “If this was all about Cas making his own damn choices, what was with the cupids’ order? Isn't that interfering?'

God cocked his head, a small smile finding its way onto Sam's lips. “A little, yes,” he admitted, turning his gaze back to Dean. “But you're a stubborn blockhead.”

Dean spluttered as God gestured to Cas. “The cupid was more of a shove for you than him. He was already well on the path to holding you above all others. And while you may have grown to feel the same way you never would have acted on it.”

And while Dean gritted his teeth and glared, he couldn't deny the little voice in the back of his head telling him the bastard was probably dead right. Fuck knows it had taken him long enough with the whole damn universe hinting and winking and nudging them together before he’d gotten the point.

“You sent Raphael,” Cas interjected, and Dean's eyes widened at the tone. And the glare. Castiel, angel of the Lord, was glaring at said Lord like he wanted to take a bit of a swing. Dean would have cheered if the words he'd spoken hadn't caused such a spike of ire in his own chest.

“I didn't send him,” God denied, voice tipping in that faux innocent way that Sam had never perfected. “I just... arranged for a certain ring of holy fire to fail.”

“You let your rabid dog off his chain,” Dean supplied and Cas growled – actually growled.

“Dean could have died,” he accused and even Dean felt the need to take a step back from the tone.

God, for his part, just looked back at his angelic child and smiled in that infuriating way of his. Like Cas was a dog that had learned a new trick. “But he didn't – you came.”

Blue eyes narrowed. “And if I hadn't?”

“Would you have stayed away?” God asked, a hint of a smirk playing at the edge of his mouth.

“No,” Cas said automatically.

And Dean blinked at that - the absolute lack of hesitation in the response - and something warm in his chest gave a little tug.

“Well then, it's a moot point isn't it?” God shrugged. “You needed a push. I pushed.”

"You're a prick, you know that?" Dean said, a sneer pulling at his lips, and for once Cas didn't pull him up on insulting God to his face.

God smiled then, and it was almost... tired. "No, I'm a father. And like all fathers, I only have so much time to teach my lessons. I'm not going to be around forever."

Dean’s eyes widened at that, but it was nothing to the expression on Cas’s face. The angel looked like he’d just had the wind kicked out it him. Dean reached out without thinking, one hand closing around Cas’s wrist as Death's words from the diner came back to him full force. _"Regardless, at the end I’ll reap him too."_

God’s eyes ticked down to Dean’s touch on Cas’s wrist and a small, almost sad smile tugged at his lips. "I’m just so tired," he said softly. "But this," he said, gesturing to Cas. “All of this needed to be learned before I went.”

"You're not returning to heaven," Cas uttered numbly, and it wasn't a question. Something in Dean’s chest gave a little tug of sympathy at the tone - like the damn angel’s heart was cracking a little.

"No," God agreed. "But I'll be... around - at least a little while longer."

“And Sammy?” Dean asked, afraid for a moment that he'd be stuck with a holy brother, but God just smiled.

“I'll leave Sam,” he assured.

A thought occurred to Dean then – one that made him feel like a total dick for not thinking of it sooner. “What about Adam?” he demanded. “Kid doesn't deserve to be stuck down there any more than Sam -”

“Adam has been returned to heaven,” God answered. “Where he belongs.”

And Dean supposed that would have to do.

“What of Michael and Lucifer?” Cas asked quietly. It took Dean a second to lose the distasteful look on his face, but he did it. Because while they’d made his life a living hell, they were still Cas’s brothers. Dick brothers, but brothers nonetheless.

God’s eyes crinkled with an unnamable emotion. Something between fondness and resignation. “They are taken care of,” he said cryptically.

Dean raised his eyebrows a little at the tone. Because for all the words themselves were ominous, the feeling behind them wasn’t.

“And now,” God concluded, pushing out of his lean against the wall. “I’ll get lost. Let you get to reunion-ing.”

Cas’s wrist was wrenched out of Dean’s grip as the angel shot to his feet, looking like he wanted to reach out but stopping short. “I don’t - will I see you again?” he asked, and Dean could hardly fault him the little thread of desperation in his tone, ‘cause while God was still a prick in Dean’s opinion, he was also Cas’s dad.

Dean watched as God reached up and did what Cas couldn’t - cupping one side of the angel’s face fondly. And yeah, the picture of Sam’s body doing that to Cas was just a little creepy in Dean’s eyes, but whatever.

“We’ll meet again,” God reassured him. “I promise.”

And then he was stepping back and Dean’s throat was closing up as it really began to dawn on him that Sam - his Sam was almost back…

Then God looked up, straight at him - a shit-eating grin on his face. “Oh, and Dean,” he added slyly. “Take care of my car.”

And then he tapped his nose, in a very un-subtle and entirely familiar way. Dean’s mouth dropped open. “Sonofabitch!”

Then God’s eyes slid closed and Sam’s whole body staggered sideways. It was only Cas’s intervention that stopped the great man-boy from ending up on the floor, Dean was sure, the angel grabbing one shoulder to steady him. Dean froze as Sam looked up.

“Sammy?”

“Yeah,” Sam gasped with a shuddering breath.

Dean had never heard anything so sweet in his life. He was out of the bed and pulling Sam into a hug before he actually thought about it, feeling the cracks in his world mend together and the universe right itself. Because Sam was here and alive and real in his arms. And fair enough, Dean had a dick of a God to thank for it, but he just didn’t fucking CARE right now...

“Uh… Dean?”

“Yeah?” he choked around the lump in his throat.

Sam’s voice was painted seven shades of uncomfortable. “You think you could put on some pants?”

For a moment there was silence. Then…

“I think he looks fine,” Cas commented matter-of-factly, and Dean suddenly could not stop grinning.

Oh yeah, life was fucking good.

**Author's Note:**

> Come attack me over on tumblr where I fangirl in real-time: [hatteress.tumblr.com](http://hatteress.tumblr.com)


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